Those Who Stand For Nothing Fall For Anything
by halfpromise
Summary: Light is a politician. What could go wrong?
1. The Climb

**A/N **It's _Japanese Psycho in Westminster_, it's true_. _No, it is actually set in Japan but take everything with a pinch of salt. I like my politicians to be completely corrupt, high as kites, misogynistic, bigoted and promiscuous. Well, I imagine them to be like that and then turn the volume up to eleven. Strangely, I don't think I'm far wrong. I've based it on UK politics and government system/departments for various reasons, particularly circa 80s/90s scandals and the Leveson Inquiry, parts of which I've just ripped off shamelessly. Oh, and the actress who plays Shiori in the live action films is lovely. The Shiori in this is not her, I just wanted a _Death Note_ name. Actually, no one is how they're supposed to be. Rated M for lots and lots of swearing (you have been warned), horrible cynicism, general non-PC nastiness and terrible things because it can only get worse.

* * *

**Those Who Stand For Nothing Fall For Anything**

**Chapter One**

**The Climb**

* * *

"It's a shame. He would have loved this."

"Touta, it's his funeral."

"Yeah, but look at all the people. Hey, do you think they'll have an open bar?"

Jeevas rolls up to catch the tail-end of our conversation. He looks like he hasn't slept and is running purely on cocaine fumes. He's wearing the same suit as he did yesterday, and it's blue, which compliments his yellow tongue. A blue suit is unacceptable at a funeral, in my opinion, even when it doesn't look like it's been teflon-coated, like his does. I can't stand cheap suits. I can't stand Jeevas. The two were born for each other if only to increase my hatred.

"They better have an open bar," he says, barging in. "Then again, he always was a tight bastard. Why change in death?"

"Don't you think that this is a bit disrespectful?" I ask. It's the right thing to say and it's always left to me to say it. Jeevas shrugs lazily.

"I don't know what that word means. Hey, has anyone got any... y'know?"

"Jeevas, you're taking the piss now."

"That means that you do, you just don't want to give it to me. Aizawa wasn't the only tight bastard in the House then. Oooh, hello! Is that his daughter? She's grown, hasn't she? Won't be a sec." And off he wanders again like an malnourished orangutan on a day out.

"Is he really going to make moves on Aizawa's daughter at her father's funeral?" Touta asks me. I check my watch and sigh at the time before answering.

"You'd think not, but since it's Jeevas and he has no sense of shame or decency, he probably is."

"Where's Mikami?"

"Meeting. Some guys have all the luck. That's why I'm here. Someone had to represent our department."

"You didn't know Aizawa then?"

"No, so I feel right at home here." I look around at the people standing in groups. There are a lot from the Health Department, which isn't particularly shocking. Some of them flit from group to group, electioneering even at the funeral of their ex-Head. Touta scratches his scalp suddenly and I take a step away from him.

"I didn't know him either," he says. I'm shocked. I thought that by working in the same building Touta would at least have ingratiated himself enough to have met his boss.

"I thought that you must have known him?"

"Nah. Someone told me that there was a buffet."

"Touta!"

"What? Obviously I'm paying my respects too. Second death of a Head this month, eh? If you count Higuichi and Penber, that's four in... how many months?"

"Yeah. Rotten luck."

Touta and I look as ridiculous as everyone else as we stand side by side, both staring at the scene from a slight distance like we're waiting for a train. _Everyone_ is waiting for something to happen even though the funeral service itself is over. I haven't been to that many Christian funerals, but I make it my business to know what to expect. You would think that it would run more smoothly but people seems content enough to hover around, mocking the dead with our beating hearts. You can tell the relatives and the genuinely upset from the crowd as they look dazed with grief among the packs of the not really bothered off-duty politicians and policemen who stay in their respective little groups. The law and the law makers never mix, not in public anyway. There's a sudden bark of laughter which is followed by an ineffective attempt to cover it up with a fake cough. It comes from Jeevas, who is now in the marquee in the centre of the fray. He's talking to Aizawa's daughter who's clutching a handkerchief which she dabs intermittently at her nose as a bored looking quartet play 'Adagio for Strings' from the side. Her father's coffin is less than a foot away. It wouldn't surprise me if Jeevas actually started leaning on it.

"You wouldn't think the Health Department would be _that_ stressful. He'd only been in the job for a couple of months," Touta wonders aloud. He seems to be scouting the area for the food table. "Do you think that I should be worried?"

"He ate a load of shit apparently." Yes, high cholesterol has seen off many a politician in their forties. A death in the cabinet keeps everything moving. No one wants stagnation. It just makes the press work harder for stories to cover, and no one wants them digging around.

"I know that he used to go to that restaurant opposite the office every day for lunch."

"Genki's Diner? God, no wonder. I'm surprised that he didn't die sooner."

"So, does this mean that there'll be a shift around again then? We just had one for Higuichi."

"Of course there'll be another one." I check my phone. No new messages apart from one from Misa which I can't be bothered with right now. "How long do you think this will take?"

"No idea. What are we waiting for? The service is over, isn't it? Do funerals have intermissions?"

"They're waiting for the hearse to take him to the crematorium."

"Do we have to go to that?"

"No, that's just for the family. It'd be quicker if we just picked him up and carried him over there. It's like, what, a hundred yards away?" Fuck's sake, I've had enough. I haven't even been noticed. No one has approached me from the Health Department, which has only made me more pissed off. What a waste of time. "Every funeral I've ever been to seems to involve a lot of standing around. I might just go. There's a bill vote at one and I could make it if I go now."

Touta looks at me. One of his eyes is a bit red and inflamed. "What about the buffet?" he asks.

"You and your buffets. It looks homemade," I tell him. "I'm not sure if I want to stay and eat the same food that probably gave the man in the coffin a massive coronary. You shouldn't either. If you died, how would I explain that to Sayu?"

"She'd probably thank you for encouraging me," he says sadly and rubs his swollen cheek.

"You two have to stop fighting."

"I'm not, she is."

"She can't fight solo."

"Look, I love your sister, Light. I really do. But she's hard work," he declares with feeling. Poor Touta wasn't prepared for my sister. The sweet girl turned into a piranha after their wedding day and she's eating him alive. I look to the ground so I can smile.

"It's a family trait, what can I say?"

"She's angry at me now because I go to work. I said: 'So what? You want me to be unemployed?' and she was like: 'You have no ambition! If you work harder and faster then maybe we'll get somewhere.' She hates the house. The house she chose! Remember?'"

"It's probably more to do with your hours than the house. Women just tend to have one issue which expands and suddenly everything is shit to them. It'll pass. Just buy her a facial or something." Touta didn't know yet that this would be a recurring problem which he'd have to live with for at least twelve hours a day for the rest of his life. Having grown up with my sister, I knew that sometimes she turns into a harpy of dissatisfaction over the slightest thing. With a weaker personality like Touta as her sounding board, he was destined for a life of misery. "Misa's the same," I offer in consolation.

"Does Misa scream and throw vases?"

"No. Well, she doesn't throw anything. She screams occasionally but that's just my cue to leave." Speaking of, I reach in my pocket for my car keys as Touta kicks a piece of turf.

"She wants a baby," he says.

"Sayu? Wow. I'm sorry, Touta."

"I told her that we can't afford one at the moment but that just made her more angry and then she started chopping carrots with a huge cleaver. Then she cried."

"Oh."

"That's not good, is it? Light, what if she asks for a divorce?"

"I don't think that's going to happen. I mean, when Misa started doing all this stuff, I just bought her dresses and she shut up after a while. You have to learn how to switch off. You know what you need? A home office with a lock on the door."

"Is that what happens? You live with someone and you end up locked in a room to get away from them?"

"Not necessarily. It's just for emergencies, like a bomb shelter."

"What about a kitten? Does Sayu like kittens?" he says, hopefully, like he's stumbled upon the answer to an age old problem.

"All women like kittens. I'm just not sure if she likes cats, and the kitten will become a cat at some point unless you just keep replacing it with other kittens. A kitten isn't really a baby though, is it? You could try, I suppose."

"I don't know what happened," he sighs. His face has fallen at my words and I realise that I'll never get away if I don't encourage him.

"They get comfortable and pull that card. It must be a good sign, I suppose. It's called 'nesting' or something. I'm all for equality, but women are unreasonable. What's she thinking? She's too young for babies. She can't even look after herself. The least she could do is learn to cook first. I'll have a word with her."

"No! If she knows that I told you, she'll kill me!"

"Touta, please. I'm not an idiot. She needs a job and you're too nice to her. Women don't like nice all the time, so try to just be nice in small doses. She's rattling around in that house and there are only so many exercise dvds she can do."

"I don't think that my wife should work, Light."

"It'll do her good, but that's just my opinion. The thing with Sayu is that she'll run all over you if you let her, which you are. The alternative is that you could just do what she asks, but then you'll have her _and_ a baby screaming at you. Your choice. Anyway, I've got to go."

"I'll hang around a bit longer I think," he grumbles, having accepted defeat and willing to be a prisoner of war who'll be beaten constantly until death. I clap him on the back as I walk behind him and impart some words of wisdom.

"Get her a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. It's her favourite."

"Thanks, Light!" he says, brightening up considerably. "Hey, are you going to Haruki's later?"

"Yeah. You shouldn't though," I warn him. "If your house is a war zone then you shouldn't leave it to fester. Seriously, it doesn't go away. I know that you think that she might just forget about it, but they don't work like that, they just get worse. They bring up old arguments months later."

"It's ok. I'll drop the wine off after this and meet you there."

"Nothing to do with me. See you."

"Light?"

"Yeah?"

"You've got my back, haven't you?"

"I have both your backs, but I know my sister and she's a bitch sometimes."

"Not all the time," he says with a stupid, soft smile on his face. The idiot. There's no saving him.

* * *

Haruki's is particularly empty on our polo mint of a floor. The tables are arranged around a cavernous hole in which we can view the people in the cheap seats eating from 'buy two courses get one free' menus on the ground floor. It's an amphitheatre for us on the upper circle and occasionally you can drop cigarette ash on them. Jeevas is holding court and we let him because he's an arsehole. He directs a question at me about my, what he thinks is wrong, stance on the prison reform bill. I catch every other word of what he says and he's lucky that I grant him that much attention. My response is succinct.

"I really wish that I cared what you think but my complete indifference prevents it."

"Yagami, I love you. You're such a bastard!" Mikami laughs as he strikes a glancing blow off my shoulder.

"He's just pissed off because he's got the inquiry tomorrow. What fun," Jeevas snorts. It's at this point that I realise that a few people from the Culture and Environment departments are a few tables away and keep glancing over. I also notice that Touta has fallen asleep.

Part of the reason we like Haruki's is because they turn a blind eye to any kind of drug use. The only unwritten rule is that the hard stuff stays in the bathrooms. Culture and Environment are smoking. I see that Mishima, who took over the void I left in Culture, is still smoking Marlboro lights. That's just pathetic. I hated Culture; it was full of the most uncultured people I've ever met and most of them are there for life. I light up a Turkish tobacco cigarette which is manufactured in Belgium. It's expensive enough for people to aspire to it, and necessary for placing a punctuation mark of respect in a possibly unruly crowd. I make a big deal of lighting it quite slowly, taking a deep breath with closed eyes, leaning back and blowing the smoke above me and my companions, because I'm nothing if not considerate. I take care to expose my neck and generally remind everyone of what their dicks are for. I must have done this well because everyone stops talking to watch me. Fuck you, Environment and Culture. And you, Jeevas. I demand attention and I take it.

Let me be clear, I do not smoke. It is dangerous both to yourself and others. A leading cause of cancer, heart and respiratory disease, cot death, infertility, puts immense pressure on the health service, is a public nuisance, is economically unsound (although the government approve of it due to the healthy injection the taxes bring to the treasury, but we don't talk about that), is a littering problem, the cause for many house fires, and affects your skin, teeth, hair and clothes. But everyone smokes occasionally for that whisper of hedonism. It's always been this way. It was one of the first subtleties I learned in the secret language of politicians. It says that I am a wild card. My loyalty and morals are for sale. Approach me with an offer if you have one. All this may or may not be true; I appear to do one thing when I'm actually doing the opposite. My heart is the purest gold and no one can touch it, but I have to be seen to give out invitations. You should always make yourself as accessible as possible to the benefits which can come from it. There are many hidden meanings in everything we do. The choices we make must be made with consideration and care. My doctor assures me that he doesn't even think of me as a smoker.

"So, what about the inquiry?" I say. "It's only for show."

Jeevas laughs again. His throat is completely shot. "You do know that Lawliet is heading it?" He leans across the table towards me. I lower my head and blow the tail-end of smoke into his gormless face.

"Yeah. And?"

"He's a rottweiler. He interviewed me for a job with his law firm once and he tore me apart. Since my résumé is pretty damn perfect, what do you think he's going to do to you? Well, I'll tell you. He will twist your testicles off and make earrings out of them. In public. So, are you looking forward to that? I am. I might even try to turn up just to see it happen."

"I've seen your résumé and it's anything but perfect. I know that you're very impressed by the master's degree your daddy bought for you, and it might look ok on paper, but obviously he met you and saw right through it. You have to make an impression in person, otherwise you're fucked if you want a _real_ job."

"So you think that you'll do so much better?" he asks.

"Of course I will." I can't help but laugh at the idea that I won't. It's an impossibility. "I was head of the national debate team and we won the championship three years in a row. I graduated and they've lost every year since. What does that tell you?"

"It tells me that you're good at bitching but not much else. But he's as gay as a handbag full of rainbows so he'll probably like you, Light, since you're so pretty!" He reaches forward and I dodge his pincer-like fingers which are trying to pinch at my face.

"Piss off, Jeevas," I tell him. This only seems to calm him into an insufferable smugness. He settles back against his chair.

"How is Misa anyway?"

"Fine."

Misa and Jeevas are having an affair. I know this because I saw him run out of my apartment and into one of the lifts with his trousers around his ankles one night when I arrived home. I'd bring it up but the railway contract is at a critical point of negotiations and I don't need to be involved in any scandal, no matter how minor, unless I can control it. I've also fucked Jeevas' fiancee, Naomi, a few times, so to dredge up my supposed injured pride would probably bring that up as well. Everyone, including Jeevas, knows about it since Naomi blurted it out in a drink induced wave of lunacy during a party dinner and cannot keep her fucking mouth shut. Political incest of this nature is acceptable as long as it's not blatant and no one talks about it. In politics you can't be accused of hypocrisy, which is tantamount to death. While no crime is certain to count you out of the benches, it could hold you up.

Jeevas has lost his interest in me and is now directing it towards some girls at the next table. One of them is from the Italian embassy across the street and is a permanent fixture here. He speaks loudly and falls forward heavily on his elbows as he curses.

"Fuck me but those Italians are good-looking. It's the clothes, man. You wouldn't look at her twice in a tracksuit. It's the _clothes_."

He strings out the word 'clothes' out like it was a religion, which of course it is. The Italians have had their day, apart from with cunts like Jeevas. Personally I prefer American and Japanese designers. They're both forward-thinking, with innovative combinations of fabric and cut, while remaining traditional. Wearing their clothes communicates personal loyalty, patriotism, and support for Capitalism. Some brands are not popular enough yet to make them common. It says that I'm in favour of trade between these two countries. It means that I am supportive of my own country's industry. The press don't notice men's clothes, but I was featured in the 'Best Dressed Under Thirty' article in the _Metrosexuality_ November issue, page fifty-four. It was nearly picked up for one of the broadsheets but the Muramatsu scandal took all the press, which fucked me right off.

"That one slept with Ide last month," Mikami points the offending girl out helpfully. Jeevas scowls at the thought that he had considered taking Ide's seconds. Ide is not respected in any way by anyone.

"I want to ask her why but judging by that plonk they're drinking, I'm not surprised," Jeevas mumbles, dropping some cigarette ash on his untouched taiyaki. "So, how did the proposal go down?"

"Not well," Mikami answers. I feel like he's stabbed me with a compass. He hadn't informed me of this very important fact. "The Lady shot it down."

There follows a moment of silent reverence for The Lady.

"What about Akutagawa?"

Mikami simply shakes his head. Akutagawa is the Education minister who has been in the centre of scandal involving a man in drag in a public toilet. His wife left him and he tried to commit suicide in the immediate aftermath, but as he is useless in all things, he failed. He recently returned to government and attempted to reassert himself with a tame education amendment proposal which obviously went down like a whore on a rich man. If The Lady is forced to publicly state to the press that she's 'fully in support of' one of her ministers, then it's the kiss of death. He'll be eased out. A graceful resignation will be expected imminently.

"He's on his way out then," Jeevas points out needlessly. He refills his glass and moans. "Where is that bitch waitress? She's paid to do this. Anyway, if The Lady cancelled a meeting with him yesterday and then didn't give him the go ahead to present to the House... we all know what that means."

"Yes. So, gentlemen. I suppose that we're all due for a upgrade."

Mikami lights a cigarette after speaking. A Russian brand using Balkan tobacco. Bastard. He has shares with a European football team owned by a Russian business man who has links with the mafia. I was going to punt for it but Mikami got there first, meeting him for dinner while he sent me to a community art exhibition for mouth and toe painters. I got no press.

Mikami coughs into his manicured hand and excuses himself, leaving a trail of smoke behind him. Jeevas turns sideways to watch him leave.

"His definition is like a bag of spanners," he says. "Get thee to a gym, Mikami."

"His suit is badly tailored," I explain, and follow Mikami. No doubt Jeevas is staring at my arse as I leave.

"Yagami?" Mikami greets me in the empty bathroom like he hasn't seen me before. "There's no fucking room in here. I'll have to use the sink. Have you got a card?"

I hand him my Amex as he pulls out a bag of incentive. "I didn't know about Akutagawa and The Lady," I say, annoyed, and it shows. Mikami glances up at me briefly.

"No? Well it's been coming for a while. Stupid fuck fiddling with ladyboys in a fucking park toilet like we're in the fucking 60s."

"Hey, too much. I'll just have a bump," I tell him as he forms two long lines with my card. He cuts mine in half with a laugh at my restraint.

Mikami takes first blow, bracing himself on the sink before gesturing for me to take the other line. Mikami has developed a raging habit but consoles himself by only using with others. The fact that he does this very often is of no concern to him and I encourage him while upholding a concerned gentleness. He's booked in at a discreet hospital outside Kyoto to have his septum repaired.

"Don't worry about it," he tells me. "Where I go, you come with me." I don't believe him. He's breathing rapidly now. It hits him quickly and he's like a different person. He's going to get shit done. I take his rolled up note and bend over. In a second, the line is gone and so has the feeling in the back of my throat.

"I'll support you, whatever you do," I say as I brush snow off my nose with my thumb. "We should talk campaigns soon." Akutagawa is considered as good as dead, so we must make plans. If Mikami wins his seat, I will take Mikami's in Transport. Obviously he wants to take me over to Education with him as I do most of his job for him, but it'll be a lower position and, after all these months, it's time to branch out.

"How are you fixed tomorrow?" Mikami asks.

"Clear after two."

"Good. Club job, I think. Three o'clock ok? I like their leather chairs. They remind me of my father's library."

I mourn the loss of the old club; the one in the House which was cut for budgets. As it turned out, the closure didn't cut the budget at all. Everyone just added club membership elsewhere to their expenses and the ill-feeling probably made them add other things on besides. Since the club closed, everyone has become a little more conceited. There may be some correlation between the two. No one was too good for them and it was a great leveller. I also don't need Mikami waxing lyrical with nostalgia about fucking chairs and his father's library.

"Fine," I say.

"How did the funeral go? Who was it this time, Mogi?"

"Aizawa."

"Oh yeah, Aizawa in Health? Maybe I should go for Health instead? Or both. I remember him now. He hadn't been in office long. This is what happens when they bring someone in from outside. What's an ex-police chief going to know about health? No offence," he smiles. I return it.

"No, I agree with you. My dad was surprised too. Aizawa was the one who took over from him when he retired. He says that he was booted out of there pretty quickly."

"Well look where it's got him - dead. They always think that politics is easy. I know we harbour a lot of incompetent fucks, but at least they're incompetent fucks who work up the ladder. Which school did he go to?"

"State, I think. Then NPA."

"Ah," Mikami nodded enthusiastically as if that fact validated how this was all doomed from the start. "I hate this bringing in of token blue collars. Just what we need, some fucking commoners. Roll them in. This party is losing its edge. It's getting far too compliant to the opposition."

One of the tabloids, a popular, scummy little paper, announced its support of the opposition in the next election because apparently we don't care about the lower classes. This was quite shit for our side. Panic set in and attempts to rectify the situation involved bringing in working class heroes to work in prominent positions. The animosity within ranks was tangible.

"Hey, ladies," Jeevas flounces in. "What are we doing here? Am I too late?" he says, happily spying the tell-tale signs like a sniffer dog.

"We were just discussing the funeral," Mikami sighs, he goes off to take a piss with intent.

"Oh! You should have been there, Miki, it was epic fucking shit. And golden boy here wasn't very impressed with my conduct, were you, darling?"

"I'll never know what it's like to be impressed by you, Jeevas," I tell him. The coke is telling me to hit him. It would make my entire life to smash his teeth until I'm just slapping bloody matter against the marble tiles, but I fight against it.

"Now, now," he says, wagging one finger while he straightens out another rail from Mikami's bag of tricks, rubbing a healthy dose on his gums. He keeps his little fingernail long for this very purpose so it acts as a scoop. "Did you tell him?"

"No. We weren't talking about you."

"And why not? I should be the topic of conversation at all times or I'll simply fade away and you wouldn't want that, would you, Yagami?"

"Jeevas made a play for Aizawa's daughter," I mumble, just to shut him up.

"At the funeral?" Mikami laughs and nearly falls into the urinal. He's lived vicariously through Jeevas since he was married a few months ago to the rich daughter of an ex-politician who helped him get the position he had now. Mikami hates his wife and it's mutual. He calls her 'Ratface' in an affectionate tone and hasn't yet summed up the courage to conduct affairs. Jeevas, on the other hand, is blessed with the ability to be in government without actually working, sleeps with anything with a pulse, and generally behaves badly while remaining under the radar of the press and The Lady. He is actually The Lady's and the press' favourite due to his rogueish ways and revolting flattery which The Lady responds well to. She recently took him and a few others as part of her entourage on a trip to China. Apparently his (dyed) red hair reminded her of a skiing holiday in Scotland as a teenager, so she took him under her wing and he took to Tokyo, having spent every summer in the north from the day he was born. Not long afterwards, he used his dual-citizenship and became firmly ensconced as being one of 'The Court Ladies', as they're known. Their purpose is to remain favourites of The Lady and aren't expected to do very much apart from to be on hand to tell her how nice she's looking. Ostensibly, his official job is something to do with foreign relations - the same as his father up until ten years ago when he lost his looks.

"You have to snatch the opportunity when one presents itself," Jeevas says snidely, tapping his nose until a puff of dust rises up. "That's how I live life. Anyone got a spliff? What is that stuff, Miki? Is it dandruff? It's doing nothing for me."

"You wouldn't know if it did. You've been wired all day."

"Ha. Yeah, that I have. It's been a good day. So, what other gossip were you bitching about in here apart from the dead guy? Has Yagami been taken up the arse by another teaboy?"

"Jeevas, I wish that you'd just come out with it instead of dancing around me. If you want to fuck me, you could just ask. And then I can say no."

"Yeah, Jeevas, cut it out. Like Yagami would have you," Mikami laughs. He does a sort of athletic lap around the bathroom until he comes back to us.

"I would sooner be assaulted by a spaniel," I add emphatically. I feel myself getting more talkative and drifting off. I want to drive a car. I want to wrap myself around a fucking lamp post. "Or a donkey," I continue. "I would choose death. Death by donkey dick."

Jeevas starts droning on and all I can visualise is his face, red and twisted, plunging at Misa like he's drilling a road. The thought that he's been in my flat and in Misa, within sight of my Jeff Koons and Barbara Hepworth sculptures, tortures me at night. I'd chosen Misa specifically for her virginal public persona, promising career and fame. It looked like she was on her way, but that's proving not to be the case. The media interest has tailed off and she became addicted to my sedatives which I keep on hand for moments just like this when Mikami gets me high and I have to stay focused. I reach for a tablet from my pocket and my hands are shaking with the sheer rush of energy. It is very hard to stay still. So, there's not really much reason to keep Misa around now. She's just cluttering up the place and sleeping with Jeevas of all people is possibly the most despicable thing she could have possibly done if I'd actually given a shit. A few months ago she had attempted suicide in my apartment while I was at seminar out of town, but it was half-hearted. All she had managed was to make a slight cut on her wrist and throw up on my cashmere blanket. It appeared that she'd put more effort into arranging herself artfully on the bed for my return; with rose petals, tablets (some of which were vitamins), and one of my razor blades surrounding her like some crap, grungy, Pre-Raphaelite painting based on _Valley of the Dolls_. The reason, apparently, is that her years of bulimia have finally taken their toll and she was told that there was a low chance of her ever conceiving. She's always hated children, but when given this news she went into a spiral of indulgent self-destruction, crying for the children she'd never have and never wanted anyway. When she told me, it sealed the deal. That, and the press weren't interested. Her discharge from hospital, which I'd gone to great trouble to attend and push her wheelchair (which she didn't need, by the way), only got page ten and one column in _The Japan Times_.

Based on my plan, I have six years left, maximum, before I must get married, and ten years before I have my first child. I must have at least two children before I'm forty, no more, as the third must be born while I'm in office. I simply must have children, otherwise what message does that give out to the public? That I don't like children and that no one should breed? Of course, if I could speed this up then it would be better. I am making progress, but not with Misa, so I'm waiting for the appropriate moment to cut her off. If chosen correctly, the time could be highly beneficial to me in more ways than one, since some public sympathy would give my profile a well deserved boost. But then there's the problem of finding another 'possible'. Naomi was always an option before she shacked up with Jeevas. God, I hate fucking Jeevas.

I think that he's finished speaking now, but it's hard to tell. Occasionally he makes a clicking noise with his throat and then says a few meaningless words, or coughs, or laughs, all for no apparent reason. Then I realise something. I groan loudly and rub my head wearily with all the pain of my life.

"I'll be staying late at the office tonight," I tell them. Jeevas looks particularly interested. Opportunity flashes through his mind as it does mine, only mine is at warp speed and his is of a clapped out three-wheeled car with a rusty bumper.

"Why?" Mikami asks, his eyes glazing over already. He looks depressed. The hit is passing and he's left with the dregs. That didn't last long.

"I just remembered the speech I have to write."

Mikami looks incredibly confused by this. "That's not until next week, is it? What's it for again?" he says as he scratches his nose. I frown. I didn't actually want to say what for in front of Jeevas, but Mikami's brain is so curdled that he probably can't remember his own name most of the time.

"The bus lane official opening," I say grumpily. There's no point disguising my embarrassment. Jeevas roars, his face becoming a platter of victory.

"Hahahaha! Bus lanes? Wow, Yagami. Wow. You're really going up in the world, aren't you?"

"It's in the redevelopment area," I explain. Like that makes any difference.

"Well I never."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Mikami tells me. He's swaying now like an old tree in a lumberyard. "Bang something out on the day and cut the ribbon. The press won't be there, just a couple of plebs."

"No, I need to be prepared. I have the inquiry hearing tomorrow, railways the day after, and you never know what'll come up after that. I don't want to leave it until the last minute."

"Yeah, some other old dude might kick the bucket and you'll be required for the funeral again," Jeevas says. I ignore him with my trademark grace as I pull back my shirt cuff to look at my watch. I like how the lighting in this room makes the hairs on my arms look golden. I wonder what bulbs they use in here? I should get some for my office.

"I'll be too late to make it worth going home. I'll just end up waking Misa and... urgh. Might as well head to the office and sleep there. What do you two have planned for tomorrow?"

"Fuck all," Jeevas says eloquently. "The Lady is visiting a hospital ward for dying children or rabbits or something. I don't know, it's all the same. If I wake up in time, I'll come and see your performance at the inquiry."

"I don't know," Mikami wonders aloud. "What is on tomorrow, Yagami?"

"You have to see Himura at eleven and me at three."

"Himura? Shit. I forgot about him. Oh, it's that railway contract, isn't it? I hate trains."

"That's not very good for a Transport minister," Jeevas points out.

"Your notes are on your desk," I tell Mikami, like I've just written him a sick note for P.E. I've done his homework for him. "It shouldn't be too difficult." He actually leans forwards, unadvisedly, and looks like he's going to kiss me.

"Yagami, you're a shining star in the heavens," he says, thankfully deciding that a pat on my shoulder is the best option. "What would I do without you? Never leave me."

"Aaaaand that tells me that it's time for me to leave, I think," Jeevas says. "You sleep easy now. Do you want me to get Naomi to call Misa for you?"

"No, she'll be asleep," I reply. "It's not worth waking her. I'll call her in the morning." Which is bollocks. I know it, Jeevas knows it. My whole apartment block probably knows it. Misa is stir-crazy this time of night. She doesn't start popping pills until 3am so she can miss out daylight hours.

"Cool, cool. Ok then, boys, see you tomorrow, maybe. Good luck with Lawliet, Yagami."

Mikami and I say nothing as Jeevas scurries out the bathroom.

"What a prick," Mikami comments as the door shuts. I agree.

We make our way back to the table where Touta is still unconscious, with the crown of his head propping up a half-full wine glass. Mikami wakes him and demands that he help me drag him to the taxi rank, and then we head our separate ways. On my way to the office, I stop at a payphone and make an anonymous call to a gossip rag. Government aide is having an affair with his brother-in-arms' girlfriend, Misa Amane, at this very moment. She of such hits as 'Whisper Me a Butterfly' and 'My Heart is a Dungeon (For Your Love)'. Then I walk to my office and settle down on my lounger for the night.

* * *

Jeevas decided to come out of the rathole at just the right time for the story to hit the morning papers. I woke up to the sad news that I'd been cuckolded. Of course I am devastated and had a large breakfast.

"I'm sorry to hear about Misa, Light," Touta says sadly. He does look upset, poor guy. He has a CD of hers in his car which Sayu doesn't approve of or want in the house.

"Thanks." I lower my head slowly with a tired smile, a well-practiced action which even inspires the affection of strangers.

"With Jeevas too."

"Yeah," I say. His name bringing out a stricken expression just to confirm my complete and utter betrayal. "You think that you can trust your friends."

"So what's going on? Sayu's been trying to phone you."

"Misa's moving out," I explain, and we start walking through the softly lit gallery where everyone gathers until I find an appropriate place to stop, apparently overcome. Misa is hysterical with despair if the pitch of her crying is more emphatic than usual. After much begging came the accusations that I'd brought it on myself by 'not being there', though I'm not sure where she thought I'd been considering that she was living in my apartment. Eventually I must have played the deceived and sad card so well that even she understood it, and she agreed to move out today. I'll send my PA round later to make sure that she hasn't done something whimsy and gothically desperate on my bed again.

"If you need anywhere to stay for a few days, you know there's always a place for you at ours," Touta says. I could get quite fond of him. He's one of the most selfless, kindest people I know. They're a rare thing anywhere, but especially in this building. It's just a shame that these attributes aren't normally accompanied with intelligence.

"Thanks, but I'll be fine. I..." I catch sight of a downtrodden-looking Jeevas. He sees me and wonders what to do. Deciding that it's a little late to hide behind a pillar, he trundles over towards me.

"Er... Hi, Yagami. Matsuda," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He's expecting a punch in the face and I'd very much like to oblige but unfortunately that would not suit the image I wish to project.

"Jeevas," I answer coldly. He starts up his speech which increases with speed until the lie overtakes him and connects all the words into one long mess.

"Look, it's been blown out of proportion. Misa and I were just talking. I thought that I'd drop around to let her know what you were doing and she was a wreck, y'know? I was only staying to make sure that she wouldn't do something stupid again, but I should have told you. I should have called..."

I wonder whether to show pity or continue to be affronted. Pity at this point might look lofty and inspirational to others. Outrage is for lesser beings. He continues babbling as I stare at him and watch how his rubber face stretches over his bones. Touta stares at him also, looking furious. The whole lobby stares at him in his dropped from a great height state. He's obviously been chased all over Tokyo since the story broke. Nothing catches the press' imagination like old-fashioned adultery. I have to remind myself that I'm the affronted party here, and deliberately interrupt him with a risky move which could bring up Naomi.

People are drifting over slowly, sideways, as if blown by a slight breeze. I speak loudly and firmly enough so that they can hear well.

"It's ok, Jeevas. If this is what you and Misa want then I'm not going to stand in your way. I just want her to be happy. But I hate lies. Surely we're old enough not to go behind each other's backs? It's not fair on the party because we really don't need this kind of press right now. I don't know, I feel like you've taken advantage of me. I considered you a friend and a colleague who I respected. How long has this been going on? Misa told me that you've been seeing each other for a while."

The thing that's different about our situations, and which keeps me on higher ground, is that he was in my apartment, which is an invasion of my privacy. If Jeevas believed that I had slept with his girlfriend and confronted me on it, then I could explain it by too much drugs and drink at parties. I never could resist someone who cries on their own, and Naomi does that a lot since Penber died. But yeah, Jeevas. I'd never been to his apartment. What Jeevas has done is considered to be theft in our job. The sex isn't the issue exactly, it's the combination of breaking into my house and entering my girlfriend which is the problem. It also suggests an element of seriousness to their affair which is unacceptable. Promiscuity is all over this place like a plague, but if any vaguely serious feelings are hinted at by conducting it in a certain place, or if the affair goes on for a prolonged period, then you will receive no sympathy from anyone in the House. Jeevas knows this. Bringing up Naomi at this point would make him despicable, desperately clinging to standard responses and a 'you slept with mine so I'll sleep with yours' argument, which is so low that I can't even imagine him stooping to that level.

"It really wasn't serious," he says instead.

"Yeah, you tell Misa that. I knew things for Misa and I were rough, but I was trying to support her and make it work. But... I can be the bigger man in this."

This smacks him right in the balls so hard I can almost hear them retreat back into their pre-pubescent station. I'm quite proud of some of the ad-hoc additions to my speech.

"Right," Jeevas chokes. "That's good of you, Yagami. But really, it was nothing."

"I disagree. To say it's nothing only goes further in showing what little respect you have for me. I'm sure that Naomi doesn't think that this is nothing. And Misa... God, Jeevas. You know how ill she's been. She's very vulnerable. Are you telling me that you've been treating her like some kind of prostitute?"

"What? No. Of course not. Not exactly."

"So not only have you been having an affair behind my back, but you've taken advantage of an emotionally fragile woman? You do realise that this could end her career?"

"You've got it all wrong. The papers are running with this like it's a fucking marathon."

"If I didn't know you so well then I might believe you. I can't talk to you right now. Not here. This is work and whatever issues we have must be kept strictly outside of these walls. While we're here we must work together with some air of professionalism, no matter how difficult that is for me right now. If I'm willing to do that then I think you can make the effort too. You could at least have the decency to apologise. I hope that you've already apologised to Naomi because she deserves better than this." I'm really getting to him and am effectively kicking him repeatedly in the stomach. He looks sick with rage. Naturally he should be able to point out the hypocrisy but he can't because he was caught first.

"Ok, ok. I'm sorry, Yagami," he whispers.

"For all your superiority, you're just an idiot, aren't you?" He didn't reply. "Well?"

"I've done a stupid thing"

"No shit."

"Can't you sort things out with Misa?"

"Are you joking?"

"Oh. Well, as long as we're ok. Hey, do you need help preparing for Lawliet? Let me know. I have some stuff on him which might make him be easy on you if you get to him before the inquiry."

"I don't think I need anymore of your 'help', Jeevas. You're the same person who offered to help me by letting my girlfriend know that I'd be late, and it involved you doing I don't even want to know what to her in my apartment. I'm going to have to get the place sterilised. New bed, carpets, everything. I pray that you kept off the work surfaces. God. My Wegner table!"

"I'm not sure how else I can apologise. And you'd be grateful for my help with Lawliet. You'll find out."

"I think I can handle one little lawyer. I've been to law school too," I say with pride, because Jeevas hasn't. "I know how they operate."

"If you say so. Well, let me know. I'd like to be able to put this behind us."

"You mean that you want me to be seen to publicly forgive you? Oh yeah, I'm sure that The Lady isn't too pleased with you."

"She won't take my calls," he admits.

"Not surprising really."

"I fucked up."

"Yeah, you did. But I hope that you can learn from this. I'm willing to put this behind us for the good of the party. We don't need another split. Besides, this is embarrassing enough for me."

"Right. So, erm. Haruki's later? I'll get the bill."

"Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow."

"Yagami, I need your help. _Please_."

"Tomorrow. I don't have time for you now."

* * *

My inquiry is me in front of a wall of lawyers and a few select politicians. _Wicked Games_ is on a loop in my head from the taxi radio. I hate it when that happens. After the meeting is officially opened, a man stands up, a bit of a mess with slicked back black hair. He has the easy arrogance of a lawyer who is actually good at his job and doesn't need to put too much effort into his appearance for his abilities to be known. He is legendary according to Wikipedia, but I got bored half-way through the article. He must be Lawliet then.

"Thank you for your time in helping us with our questions this morning," he starts politely. I nod in reply and he continues with the standard introductions to the board while I pour myself a glass of water. _I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you. I never dreamed that I'd know somebody like you. No, I don't want to fall in love. No, I__-_ Oh shut the fuck up, Issak. Get a grip.

"Yagami-san, do you know Italian?" Lawliet asks me.

"No. Unless seeing _The Godfather__ counts._"

I wanted to start on a humorous note. Both to see how seriously the panel are taking this inquest by their response, and to gain the unconscious support of the people behind me. Lawliet's face is as blank as a piece of paper.

"I'm afraid that your DVD collection won't help you," he says. "There is a phrase: _Cu è surdu, orbu e taci, campa cent'anni 'mpaci. _He who is deaf, blind, and silent will live a hundred years in peace. Would it be fair to say that the plot in which you are accused of being involved in could be described as a corrupt coalition held together by secrecy to pursue financial gain and political power with no regard for the law by intimidating, manipulating and using criminal tactics to further your ambitions?"

God. I don't think he took a breath during that whole thing.

"I wasn't involved in any plot with Higuichi," I sigh. "I hardly knew the man. He was in a different department to me."

"Yagami-san, it's amazing to me how you were apparently unaware that you were involved in a criminal operation."

The audience laughs. He got a bigger laugh than I did. So that's how it is.

"I repeat, I didn't know Higuichi and whatever schemes that he may or may not have been involved in. I don't need to remind you that the police investigation is ongoing, so what you're saying is slanderous."

"I'm well aware of that, but we're conducting this inquiry on the presumption that he was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Now, shall we go back to your knowledge of mafia-centric film culture? There is also a code of conduct in that it is considered contemptible for an injured party to betray the name of his assailant, because if he recovers, he is expected to take revenge himself. Are you an injured party, Yagami-san? Did you make the anonymous phone call which exposed the syndicate? Is this your vengeance?"

"No. Absolutely not. If you'd allow it, I could relate all that I know of Higuichi." I reach into my folder.

"You have a prepared statement?" Lawliet asks, turning towards the rest of the panel. "First one this week," he says, at which they all nod, as surprised as he is. He waves his hand towards a blond man who rushes forward to take my papers. "You may submit it for review but as it looks quite lengthy and I plan to take my lunch in an hour, I respectfully request that you give a brief summary at this moment in time."

"I knew nothing of Higuichi until it was on the news. Then all I can tell you is the emergency discussions that took place in the House directly after, but I'm sure that you have the transcript."

"We have it. Would you say that this hastily arranged House meeting was an attempt for some members to cover their backs?"

"Of course not.'

"I thought that you'd say that. So, you say that you had no connection with Higuichi, save for being a fellow representative?"

"Yes."

"And your accounts don't suggest otherwise?"

"No." I have a bank account in Switzerland and drip-fed money in small amounts through Misa's accounts, thankfully. "My expenses claim was considerably less than average. I could have my secretary send you the figures."

"That won't be necessary. I happen to have them here." Bastard.

"Well, then you can see for yourself.

"Yes, quite restrained in comparison to your superior, Mikami-san, but only just within the accepted limit for someone of your standing. Yagami-san, would you consider yourself a reliable, useful idiot and that is the only reason that you're tolerated within the government?"

"You expect me to answer that?"

"I would find it very entertaining to hear you try to deny it, but no, I'll withdraw that redundant question. What is clear is that there is a vicious political coup which has been discovered and may not have been at all if it were not for the death of Higuichi and the anonymous phone call which betrayed everyone involved. When looking at the facts and you search for the culprit, you look for those who had the most to gain, which is Mikami-san and yourself. When was the last time that you saw Higuichi?"

"The New Year celebrations. The night he died."

"You were at a same party which Higuichi attended at Mikami-san's house, is that correct."

I feel paralysed. I sip the water, the ice clinks against the side of the glass. My hand feels slippy against the condensation. I was with Naomi at that party. The place descended into a bit of a communal orgy in separate rooms after the fireworks. Jeevas was with Mikami's secretary. I wasn't the only one, but someone might have blabbed. "Yes."

"That was the last known sighting. What time did you see him?"

"I left sometime around two in the morning."

"Who were you with?"

"No one."

"No significant other?"

"No."

"You're in a relationship with Misa Amane, are you not?"

"I was at the time, but I don't know what that has to do with the investigation unless you're more interested in my private life than you are in your case."

"Ha! I'm sure that your private life is very interesting to you, but unfortunately I don't share that fascination. I only wish to know if there is anyone who could corroborate the story in your statement to the committee."

"If you read my police statement, you'll know that I included a list of people who can attest to events."

"Oh, I read that statement. It's very flowery and with excellent grammar. At times I felt like I was reading an early Edgar Allan Poe story. Did you see Higuichi leave?"

"No. I had no dealings with him, so I wasn't keeping an eye on what he did."

"So what you're saying is that you have nothing to say? You know nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing."

"I can't tell you things that I don't know for certain. There were rumours in the House but it's not my job to try and validate them, it's yours."

"That much of what you say is true. As you're aware, Higuichi was involved in a car accident after leaving that party. His death _was_ very beneficial to you, would you agree?"

"I'm offended at the insinuation that I purposefully gained from the tragic death of one of my colleagues."

"Come now, this is informal. We're not in court, Yagami-san. I'm only pointing out how your superior, Mikami-san, took over Higuichi's position as Head of Transport after his death, and that you, by association, became his second in command. Quite a leap from your previous position."

"I was voted in."

"Indeed. Is it true that you always aspired for Transport? Do you strive for great things?"

"I aspire for nothing apart from to do the best for my country. I'm grateful for the opportunity to work in the position I hold now, but I did not seek it, nor do I revel in the circumstances which allowed it to come to pass."

Lawliet tilts his head to one side as he stares at me, which makes me want to mirror the action to keep up proper eye contact.

"Why do you think that you've been called to give evidence, Yagami-san?" he asks after a few moments.

"For the committee to get the broadest view of events surrounding Higuichi and his death."

"And you don't consider yourself in danger of being implicated in any way?"

"When you have done nothing wrong, you should fear nothing. I would suggest that it's cheap to attempt to make me a scapecoat. The facts are that I had no relationship with Higuichi, no involvement in corruption and no reason to benefit from his death, unless you want to accuse everyone whose position changed in the unavoidable reshuffle. It's disgusting of you to imply that I was in any way pleased about his death or had any involvement in it. The police investigation found that it was an accident and that he had been drinking. I don't see how I fit into any of this."

"It's for the committee to decide how you fit in, Yagami-san, not you. Do you believe that we should take your statements as facts without question?"

"No, but I resent your tone, your manner of questioning, your implications and find your behaviour today to be revolting and unprofessional."

I draw gasps from the crowd. It's a good moment.

"I apologise if I've offended you," Lawliet replies with a smile. "I can see that you're very sensitive."

"Anyone would find your manner to be offensive."

"Oh dear. Well, Yagami-san, I propose that we end my revolting, unprofessional questioning for the day so the board can review your statement. If we require your assistance again, would you be willing to appear?"

"Of course. I only want to help the investigation in any way I can."

"That's very generous of you."

* * *

I'm furious and feel like I have a parasite under my skin moving, itching. I walk briskly to my office and attempt to calm myself. I watch the Japan News Network. This makes me valid.

Just as I'm about call Mikami and tell him what happened and warn him of what to expect, my secretary calls me.

"Lawliet-san is here. He wants to see you."

I consider my options quickly and take a gulp of water. What could he want? "I'm busy," I say. That should do it.

"He said that he's willing to wait."

"Fine, send him in." My jacket is on the back of the chair. Perhaps it would be better if I was wearing it, but this is my office and I should be casual. I jump up from the lounger and rush to my desk just as the door opens. I make a point of not standing when he comes in. He's wearing a long black mohair coat which I hate him for owning. Double-breasted, classic fit. I think it's Burberry. Prorsum line.

"Yagami-san," he greets me with cheerful suspicion and a slight bow, closing the door behind him. "Thank you for finding yourself to be not as busy as you originally thought."

"Mr Lawliet, please take a seat." He's half way there as I say it and has taken this room on as his own. Suddenly I feel like I'm the one in front of the desk in his office, not the other way around.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here," he says. "I wish to apologise if you found my questioning today to be particularly harsh. It wasn't, it's simply my style. If anything, I was kind to you."

"I haven't thought about it since," I mutter, impassively. He looks at me briefly as he stands again to remove his coat which he drapes over his lap after sitting back down like a lounge lizard, one leg bobbing slowly, crossed over the other.

"I've read through your statement. I don't see any reason why you should be called back."

"Right. It's very considerate of you to tell me so quickly, but there was no need to come to my office."

"No. That's true." He's looking around the room and lazily points to my large Ogata Gekko print behind me. Number one of his Sino-Japanese War triptychs. "Nice picture," he says, blandly. Of course it fucking is.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" I sigh.

"Just some of your time is enough at present."

"I'm not sure what else I can tell you to help with the investigation. I've told you everything I know, you have my statement to the police as well as my statement for the inquiry, and nothing has changed since then."

"No more of the inquiry," he breathes out and strokes some dirt from his coat onto my carpet. "The conclusion was decided upon a long time ago. I wanted to see you for other reasons."

"If it's not particularly important, could we arrange a meeting for another time? I have some things to sort out this afternoon."

"I won't keep you long. I'm very sorry for bringing up your relationship with Misa Amane this morning. I hadn't had time to read the tabloids and wasn't aware of your break up. I presume that you have ended it. I wanted to pass on my sincerest condolences and apologise for bringing up a difficult subject in the inquiry. It must have been very painful to you."

I lean back to put some distance between us because the desk isn't doing a good enough job. "What was difficult is that it had absolutely no relevance to the case," I tell him. He grins and further relaxes into his chair.

"Oh, but it did. I wanted to establish that you went to that party alone. If you had gone with Misa Amane then I could have called her in for her testimony. I'm surprised that you spent New Year apart. It must have been awful to find your girlfriend in bed with one of your party brothers. Who was it again who did the wicked deed?"

I take exception at his upbeat humour at my expense, but can't show that he has any effect on me apart from boring me stupid. "Jeevas. He's -"

"One of The Lady's boys, I know him. Friend of yours?"

"Not particularly. I only know him through work."

"Strange. I thought that I saw you with him at Haruki's yesterday."

I can't help but feel that there's something of the night about his reasons for being here now, I just don't know what it is. It's obvious that he still suspects me and thinks that everything I say is false, although his manner is one of someone who is entertained by knowing something that no one else does. I decide to confront him with an accusation from his own book, matching his humour.

"You saw me at Haruki's? Were you spying on me?" I laugh.

"Of course not, you self-obsessed imbecile," he says slowly with a lazy smile and half-lidded eyes. "I went there for their chocolate fondant, just like everyone else. I noticed you, there's a difference. Like I noticed you at Aizawa's funeral."

"You were there too?"

"Again, I wasn't following you around, but if it makes you feel special then you think that. I was attending the funeral. You know how we on this political peninsula move in such small but sprawling circles. Aizawa-san provided me with some off the record information for a case I was working on a few years ago when he was in the NPA, that's all. I knew your father before him, by the way. He was very unhelpful. Please pass on my regards."

"You know a lot of people."

"I hate to socialise but sometimes it's unavoidable since the world is so crowded. What were you doing in the bathroom with two men for such a long time?"

"We were just talking."

"Oh, what a shame. My imagination ran away with me. Don't be shy, you were talking about Akutagawa's impending ejection from the world of politics without a parachute, weren't you?"

"Mikami's going to run for his seat. Would you like a glass of water?" I stand and walk to the drinks cabinet without waiting for an answer and choose Perrier for him. It's still the best. Formal. I pour myself a glass and wish that it was saki. While I'm doing that, I put a brief call in to my secretary to check on my apartment. Hopefully there won't be any dead girls there. As I turn around and walk back to my seat, Lawliet's eyes follow me around the room. I hand him his water, which he takes, but doesn't drink it.

"You drink a lot of water," he comments. "I noticed at the hearing. Normally that's a sign of nervousness. Or a bladder infection."

"It's neither."

"Good, because I would hate to be the cause of those things. So, yes. Poor Akutagawa. Along with the recent deaths in the cabinet, there should be quite a reshuffle."

"Yes. It's unfortunate," I nod. "It's not like we need more instability right now."

"You're suffering a lot of personal instability too. You look good on it, though. Stress must suit you." He looks at me like a dog staring at his owner's steak. Oh, I get it. I brush a hand through my hair as I exhale.

"I'm surprised. I feel like death," I offer with a self-conscious tone.

"You don't look like it."

"That's something at least. But I suppose that appearances can be deceiving."

"I've often found that to be the case with interesting things. If you scratch the surface you find something completely different and surprising. Sometimes you have to do more than scratch," he says. I had no idea that this would turn a little philosophical, but it's also quite nice to have someone to speak to who isn't completely transparent. Everything is layered. His expressions go against his words and I find several interpretations for what he says, and most of them are pure filth.

"Everyone and everything holds some secrets," I say, with the wisdom of kings. "I suppose if they're worth investigating then there must be something interesting on the surface, otherwise you wouldn't pay any attention to it in the first place."

"I find _you_ quite interesting, Yagami-kun. If everyone and everything holds secrets, then that goes completely against what you said at the hearing. You said definitively that you had no secrets. Are you a set apart from the rest of us mere mortals?"

"At the hearing I was referring to Higuichi. I wasn't involved in some web of secrecy."

"But you know who was," he says, leaning forward. I smile at the expectation he has for me to just cave in and tell him everything I know. I like his face. I can't call it yet on whether he's a complete dickhead or not.

"Why should I know?" I ask. "I thought you said that I'm just a useful idiot."

"Yes, I did say that, didn't I? I was obviously mistaken."

"I know no more than any hack journalist. Of course people in the House have suspicions, but it's coloured by personal vendettas and dislikes. I try to keep an open mind and not be influenced by those factors. So no, I have no time for speculation. I just want this whole thing over with."

"It will be soon. Thankfully the media are being kept out of this, in no small part because of the news moguls' involvement with Higuichi."

"You say that like you accept corruption as a fact of life."

"It is. Only a fool would think otherwise," he states and picks up my letter opener, pressing the tip against his finger to test the sharpness. "Don't disappoint me and tell me that you're a naïve innocent with dreams of a better world?"

"That kind of cynicism is something I'd expect from someone twice your age."

"If you think you can clean up this corrupt little powerhouse then I'm afraid that you're not very well suited to a life in politics. Others have tried and failed before you. Oddly, most of them end up killing themselves."

"It's my hope that one day it can eradicated. If you start with politics, the rest will follow. There is always the power to change what is rotten. It just needs a pure person to..."

"Sacrifice themself?" he finishes for me, putting the knife back down on the desk. "So you _are_ ambitious. I did wonder. You don't seem as depressed by the breakdown of your relationship as I would expect. Didn't you just find out this morning?"

"Yes. Maybe it hasn't really hit me yet. I've been very busy lately, and then there was the inquiry this morning. But yeah, it wasn't working out anyway. To be honest, she wasn't really my type," I drop the bombshell as delicately as I can before I drain my glass. Yes, I can be bought and sold. When I look back at him, he's smiling, and what I took for suspicion looks like he just had a yen for me after all. When will I ever give my gut instinct the trust it deserves? I'm not saying I will or I won't, but it's good to keep my options open and he seems interesting enough to have around and ease the boredom on rainy days. I cough into my closed fist before I continue. "The press have been bothering me all morning." It all weighs heavy on me, kind of. And I never asked for any of it. Not officially anyway.

"Press is never a bad thing if you play it properly," he tells me.

"You speak from experience?"

"I do. Not for myself, but for the people I've represented. The last thing I need is public attention. Maybe I should have used this as my opening line of attack in seducing you when I came in, because yes, that's why I'm here. I know how much you politicians love influence with the press. You see, I own the press. You've scored big time, Yagami-kun. I've helped most of the editors out of some potentially damaging infringement accusations and they owe me privacy and favours in return." He must have seen the realisation on my face as he stood and walked around the desk to get to me. I must be more careful with him. He kneels before me as I turn in my chair to face him. "Ah, do you like me just that little bit more? Are we friends now?" he asks. I try not to bite my bottom lip.

"My name is Light."

"I know."

"I know that you know. I'm giving you permission to call me by my first name."

"I'm honoured. So, Light, will you give me permission to take your mind off your heartbreak?"

"Maybe." Yes, I'll fuck him here. I have to meet Mikami at three but I could postpone. I might not have to.

"I'll be in the Arcadia Room at eight," he says, standing unexpectedly. He didn't look like the wine and dine type, but whatever. He puts on his coat. I'm not disappointed, I just realise how unused I am to people not taking up opportunities.

* * *

Mikami swirls the whisky around the ice in his glass as he relaxes in his beloved leather chair. We're sitting opposite each other and there's a fire burning in the grate even though it's not cold. It's like being on an Edwardian cruise liner in first class.

"Health or Education..." he muses as he watches the amber liquid roll around.

"Put yourself forward for both," I say. "I know a few people in Education who'll support you. Some will probably do it for free."

"Hmmm. I'm not sure if I'm ready for Education."

"That's not the kind of mentality you should have."

"I don't mean that I'm not _ready_ ready, I mean that there's a lot of visiting schools and talking to teachers and children involved, isn't there? I hate all those things."

"You hate Transport too but you've done ok. You don't like hospitals and sick people either so Health will bring the same problems."

"Urgh, they're so similar. Didn't Aizawa get eggs thrown at him when he visited a hospital once? People get so angry about these things."

"Yes, but he was useless. At least it's not Work and Pensions with people moaning about how foreigners are taking all the jobs."

"Well, I'd agree with that, you see. Unofficially, of course."

"Of course."

"I just don't care about hospitals or schools and I'll have to look like I do. That's exhausting on a daily basis. I wish that Defence was an option. That would be a piece of piss and probably involves looking at tanks and things. Yeah, I'd like to review the troops. All that saluting."

"Health is a good one to get under your belt," I suggest. I don't really care where he goes, I just want Transport for myself. I've kept some ideas in reserve so that I can make an impression as soon as I get in.

"Oh, Yagami, I don't know. I think I'll just go for both, like you say. Leave it in the hands of Fate."

"Fine. I'll start drafting up some campaign plans. You'll have to work out your budget."

"You're stellar. You'd make someone a wonderful wife."

"Er... thanks. I think."

"No, really. I thought so the first time we met when you sewed that button back onto my jacket before my first speech. Always prepared. I thought then, he's the one. It was like love at first sight really, but for a deputy. Every great man needs a sidekick, you now what I mean. Remember Culture? Those were the good old days. No one gave a shit about Culture because it looks after itself."

As he talks, I check my phone. There are practically thousands of missed calls from my entire family, Misa, and what I suspect to be journalists since I don't recognise the numbers. They can all fuck off. Oooh, Lawliet has sent me text message with a photo attached. I laugh unexpectedly when I see it. It catches me off guard otherwise I wouldn't have allowed myself to laugh.

"What's funny?" Mikami asks me, leaning forwards.

"Nothing. How's Shiori, by the way?" Mentioning his wife makes him screw up his face but at least it distracts him.

"Disgusting," he says, flinging himself back into his chair like he's just been shot by a sniper.

"Oh."

"But it's ok. We've split the house into two halves. Sometimes we can go for days without seeing each other. Actually, that's something. Could you look into how divorce factors in for politicians in regards to the top job? Opinion polls and stuff like that."

"You've only just married her," I point out.

"In theory, I suppose that I could get it annulled," he considers, staring up at the ceiling. "Look into that too. I'm just holding out until her father dies. His liver's fucked. The bitch will get half the house but since her father paid for it, it doesn't matter much. I'll go out with more than I came in with, it's just the ramifications it might have. Public opinions and so on."

"You mean that you haven't consummated the marriage? And you didn't even sleep with her before?"

"No. God, no. I know it goes against all my beliefs of trying before you buy, but really I was buying her father's influence so it wasn't a major concern at the time. I thought about just manning up and going primal but there wasn't enough whisky in the world when it came down to it. Well, there was, but it just made me pass out and we've stayed away from each other since then. In a way, it's a good thing. Can you imagine the alimony if we had children? Urgh, imagine the children! They'd be such ugly little bastards."

"She's not unattractive."

"You think that but it's all makeup and good lighting. I could get past that, it's when she talks that's the problem. She collects these figurine things too; the house is full of them. It looks like a gnome garden. I'm sorry, Yagami. I haven't asked how you are about the Misa and Jeevas thing. We are in a bad way, aren't we? I can't get rid of my horrible wife and your girlfriend jumps Jeevas. Hey, do you think Jeevas might sleep with Shiori? I'd have grounds for adultery then! No, that's too much to hope for. Have you punched him yet?"

"Actually, we're kind of ok about it. He spoke to me this morning."

"You mean you don't mind?"

"Not enough to make an enemy of him. He's buying me dinner at Haruki's tomorrow."

"You could see him out if you played it right."

"Yeah, but he has his uses. He did me a favour, really."

"I suppose. Misa did seem... temperamental. And she did that talking about herself in the third person thing. I never understood that. How did you stand it?"

"She was pretty."

"Yes, she was now you come to mention it. Jeevas. Are you going to have a blood test? He's probably crawling with STDs."

"I don't need to worry about that. Apparently they've only be at it for a month or so and I haven't been near Misa since just before her trip to A&E."

"Really? God, Yagami, how do you cope? I'm dying here. I feel like my dick is going to drop off from boredom. Your will power is an awesome thing."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Oh, just not with Misa... I get you. Clever boy. You must tell me all about it some time. So, you're back on the singles market. Don't worry. I'm sure there's a lovely girl out there for you."

"I'm not bothered about it right now. I'm just looking forward to getting my apartment back."

"So she's moving out, eh?"

"By tonight, hopefully."

"You have to get married in a few years though. Bearing in mind the finding, dating, and engagement, that doesn't leave you _that_ much time. You can't really get away with a mailorder bride, I looked into it. The people expect a bona fide love affair and old-fashioned courtship shit."

"I don't want a mailorder bride."

"I know," Mikami says, downing a shot of whisky. "We all want love, Yagami, but it's as rare as a unicorn. Hey, cheer up. It could be worse. What about the inquiry?"

"It was interesting."

"I have it all to look forward to. Is this Lawliet bastard really so bad? Fucking foreigners."

"He's tricky but as long as your story's straight, it's fine."

* * *

The Arcadia Room is a shithole. I've decided. I give them another six months before they close. Lawliet is opposite me, my view of his face partially obscured by a candle which I blow out and put on another table. I wish that we could skip the formalities and getting to know you bollocks.

"What is it like being in politics, Light-kun?" he asks, moving his food around the plate like it's on a racetrack.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Too familiar?"

"Too childish and patronising. And in answer to your question, politics is a worthwhile occupation. I feel honoured to be given the responsibility, as voted for by my constituents, to represent them in the political arena. To be able to improve things for the population."

"Very admirable statement. And what is it _really_ like?"

I stab a salad leaf with my fork. "What is it like being an interfering bastard?" I ask in return.

"Much the same to how you must find politics, Light."

I want to say: 'Are you bored by it all too? Let's go back to your place and have sex on the kitchen table.' But I don't. I imagine that it will be like jumping between planets. It wouldn't be my first time, but I have to gauge this one correctly. It's more important.

"When does the inquiry end again?" I ask, changing the conversation. The sooner this is done with, the better. They don't even have a decent white wine here, never mind my I-Block Fumé Blanc.

"Early next week," he answers. "I'm spreading myself too thin at the moment. The Lady has given me work which deserves more of my attention than I'm willing to give."

"You've met The Lady?"

"Don't tell me that you haven't?"

"Once." It was at one of Takada's charity fundraising dinners. The Lady was in a little draped, enclosed area in the garden surrounded by fairy lights, making her look like a one-woman Nativity. The pearls of her necklace were as large a ping pong balls and you could suffocate on them. I kissed her hand and she smiled.

"I'm surprised that she didn't make you one of her boys," he laughs momentarily before frowning at his plate and pushing it aside. He doesn't eat his bourguignon. I am judging him on this.

"That wouldn't really be very good for my career," I explain. "I want to make my way in politics, not be eyecandy for The Lady. Look at Jeevas. Not that he has any hopes of bettering himself or making a difference, thank God, but he'd never get anywhere in the position he's in. Everyone knows that he's just there for decoration and there's no respect for him."

"When I first saw you at the funeral, I thought the same. Yet another of The Lady's beautiful court jesters. It surprises me when I'm wrong."

"I'm glad that I obliged."

"You haven't obliged me with anything yet. This dinner doesn't count."

"You're a fast worker but I'm faster. We could have skipped this shit, you know? There's no need for dinner and candlelight at our age. And, y'know, neither of us is wearing a dress."

"I wanted to speak with you," he says, thoughtfully, following it up with a more cheerful: "and get you out of your clothes, but that goes without saying."

"We could have done both of those things at your place."

"No, I'd like to understand you."

Something about his personality has changed. He's much more softly spoken and pure sounding, which worries me. The dreamy quality of his voice makes me feel pensive and angry. I reach forward suddenly and poor myself another glass of wine.

"I don't want to be understood. To be understood would make me dead."


	2. The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

**A/N **Disclaimer of sorts - I make up and say loads of rubbish. This government is on another planet and everyone loves 70s Dodge Challengers. Light's just mad as.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**The Revolution Will Not Be Televised**

* * *

"Yagami!" Jeevas shouts from across the road. "Wait, will ya?"

It will appear to him, by the way that I fail to stop, that I have been stricken with sudden and acute deafness. I'm not prepared to run from him as that would look ridiculous. My suit has been freshly dry cleaned and I look like I've been pressed into it, whereas he looks homeless. People might think that he's trying to mug me. So, sadly, he catches up with me.

"I have to get to my office," I tell him as I continue to walk with purpose. I am an android. Jeevas deserves no humanity. No, I'm not in a good mood this morning. No morning should start with Jeevas unless you're driving a school bus and you run him over.

"_Fantastico_. Whatever. I was just wondering if you're going to Miki's tomorrow night?"

"And?"

"And... is Naomi going?"

"I have no idea, Jeevas."

"She knows about it. Miki made Shiori invite her. "

"Are you asking me if I'm taking her?"

"She wouldn't be seen dead with you," he hisses.

"Is that right?" I smile as I sign in at the lobby. "Oh. Well, I'm sure I'll slit my wrists over that later."

I bound up steps two at a time. I go to the gym. It's very important for moments like this. Jeevas' co-ordination is so fucked that he struggles to take one step at a time. Along with other reasons, this is because he doesn't go to the gym. He considers sex with strangers to be a good enough work-out in itself, and relies on drugs to keep him thin as a rake. This may work for him now, but in a few years he'll just be considered scrawny, not elegantly wasted. Infuriated by being so magnificently outpaced, he tries to make me cry instead.

"You're a jumped up little shit, you know that?" he shouts behind me, desperately trying to keep up. "Just because you're Head of Transport, or the Brum Brum Department as you probably know it. Are you making a speech about the choo choos today, Yagami? You're such a good little soldier for your mummy."

He's referring to the fact that I'm the youngest Transport minister for decades. The youngest before me was only promoted because everyone else was busy being shot at during the war and he had club foot. People indoors know what I must have gone through to get here. I might be young but, by God, I'm a hard worker. They respect me even more for my determination, and so they should.

I turn quickly, which catches him by surprise and he nearly topples down the stairs.

"Jeevas, what car do you drive?" I ask.

"What?" he exclaims. His face is twisted with confusion, hatred, and the concept of imminent defeat. "A '70s Dodge Challenger. You know that."

"An American make, and an inefficient old rust bucket if I remember rightly. That's not very supportive of our country's car industry, is it, Jeevas? We make the most reliable cars in the world. We're leaders in technology and car design, but then, you wouldn't know that. Do you know what I drive? A Lexus. A premium vehicle subsidiary of Toyota and one of our many success stories in terms of global trade. Do you know which model? A LF-CC full hybrid coupé with a 2.5 litre engine and emissions below 100g CO2 per kilometre. One of the first off the production line, not officially for sale. If you sold every organ in your body, you still couldn't hope to buy one. I have a prototype from the CEO. That's my brum brum. Now fuck off."

Hitting Jeevas with my superiority and leaving him speechless on the stairs makes all this worth it in itself. There's no good or bad way of becoming head of a department, you just get here using whatever methods you can, legally or otherwise. Anything seems possible, but you need the combination of attributes which I happen to have. It's been seven months since Aizawa's funeral. There is no before. I was born at the graveside when Mikami effectively got Health as soon as that man died. It's been six months since I was made Head of Transport. In the time that I've been in this position, I used all my reserve ideas which were too good to be wasted on Mikami, and rushed them through. It's not often that someone makes such an impact on a department in so short a time. This has made me very popular in the House as they know a good idea when it slaps them in the face, and they'll approve if it won't cost too much. Also, what I've done has made me very popular with the press, and because of that, I'm very popular with the public. The press tell people what to think, and they should think that I've improved public transport, sustained economic growth, improved productivity and efficiency, confronted environmental performance obligations, strengthened safety and security, and enhanced access for all, but I have made a special, concerted effort to aid the most disadvantaged people who rely upon the sector which I am responsible for. All this I have done well under budget. I am generous with my time within office hours, and speak with the ordinary man and woman on the street. I am the people's politician. Editorialising is a wonderful thing.

As I reach the office, my PA stands and tries to tell me what I already know. Mihael, Lawliet's PA, is sitting in the little waiting area near her desk. I ignore them both and open the door to my office to find Lawliet lying on my lounger like he's sunbathing, apparently unaware that he's indoors and that it's October. I shut the door and he troubles himself to open his eyes.

"You shouldn't be here," I tell him. I do not approve of his disregard for the conventions of professionals who have affairs in the workplace.

"And hello to you too. I was just passing by. No, that's not true. I moonlight as a health and safety standards official and I've come to make sure that you're wearing clean underwear today."

I dump my briefcase on my desk as a premise to my rant. I don't really expect him to take any notice of what I have to say, since he generally doesn't, but as he's in my office, I feel that I have some rights.

"You have to stop doing this. My PA knowing that you turn up at all hours is one thing, but leaving Mihael outside in full view for everyone in the department to see is just fucking unacceptable."

"Yes, good old Keehl," Lawliet sighs dreamily. "I like having a male PA. They don't speak as much as women or take as anywhere near as much time off because they're 'ill' or because their uterus is upsetting them. Keehl reminds me of the boy I had once in my third year of university, only without the the tea stains on his tie."

"God, you speak a lot, don't you? It's eight in the morning."

"No, you're not a morning person. I noticed using my powerful skills of deduction. Is this why you keep disappearing in the middle of the night?"

"I sleep better alone. We've been over this."

"Maybe you could do the sex thing on your own as well and then you needn't be bothered by anyone at all?" he says, closing his eyes again.

"Lawliet, I don't have time for all this hilarity. I have a public appearance to prepare for."

"I hadn't forgotten. And you have to start calling me L, please. How many times do I have to ask you?"

"No. I told you, it makes you sound like a wannabe rapper."

"It doesn't. I earned that nickname at Oxford. You don't see many rappers going to Oxford." This is true, I suppose. In any case, I don't really care and don't have time to argue about it right now anyway.

My new office is nearly three times as large as my last one and has a fitted wardrobe, a bathroom, an adjoining conference room and a mystery room which doesn't seem to have a purpose, but it's become quite useful for hiding Lawliet in if someone else turns up. I'm quietly pleased with it. I sit behind my desk and buzz my PA to ask her for two coffees.

"Have her get one for Mihael too," Lawliet demands.

"No, there's an instant coffee machine out there for any stray PA. We get ground coffee. Now, just what do you want exactly? Get on with it and then piss off."

"I want you on that desk in fifteen seconds. Be accommodating."

"Don't get any ideas. A car is picking me up soon and I'm not making a public speech looking like I've been pulled through a hedge. Besides, do you really think that this is appropriate? There's a portrait of The Lady over there," I tell him, pointing towards it. She stares out at us with something between passive longing and asexuality written within the lines of her face. Her and her pearls and quaffed to death hair. Lawliet rolls his eyes at her.

"She'd love to oversee our progress," he assures me. "And no, this is very_ in_appropriate, but that's never stopped me before. What's the speech this time then?"

"Nothing. I just need to prepare. These are work hours and we can't be seen together or it could look like favouritism."

"That's exactly what it is."

He walks over to me and holds his hand out for something. I'm not sure what for, so I give him my speech, hoping that he'll be content with that. He takes it and talks as he reads it.

"You're everyone's favourite, Light. That's what happening, or haven't you noticed? You haven't exactly discouraged it."

He obviously feels some pride of responsibility for this fact, and the anger in the pit of my stomach rises up my gullet like bile. I shuffle some papers.

"I'm not the favourite of the right people yet," I tell him.

"Oh. I'm slightly offended," he says, looking up from my speech and towards the wall as he considers the feeling. "I think that deserves a round of applause."

"I mean that I need to at least get in with Watari. I need to get in The Lady's orbit."

Watari is the Cabinet Secretary and a close friend of The Lady. He's ancient and a yes man, which is probably why she keeps him around. Nevertheless, he wields immense power in his own right. Getting to him, or Takada, would be like getting through the Pearly Gates with a VIP ticket.

"You want to get in The Lady's orbit?" Lawliet repeats. "Is that a euphemism concerning our dear Lady? While I agree with your plan, Light, it's very much longterm and you're trying to rush like a bull in a china shop. People at the top don't like ambitious little things like you trying to barge into the sacred circle. It takes time, there's a certain etiquette and you're too used to the ways of the lower echelons. When you get in with the top it's because you're someone that they actually like, or because they trust you, rarely both. You need some training before you can suggest that you could be either of those things to them, so leave the timing to me? There's a love."

"Hmmm... I suppose." He notices how begrudgingly I concede.

"You go and commit professional suicide then," he says. "Buy them all a hamper and some bottles of whisky and see how far it takes you."

"I need an opportunity," I confess wistfully. Lawliet's been very useful, it's true, but I don't want him dragging this out for longer than necessary and underestimating me. Ten minutes of conversation with Watari and Takada is all I need. They'll never want me to leave their side again.

"And it'll happen," he assures me. "If you move now then you'll ruin your chances. You don't know how these things work like I do."

"Oh, I'm sorry! I bow to your greater knowledge or whatever." I glance at him to find him smiling with entertainment. What a complete cunt. Looking back down quickly, I cough into my palm and grumble, "I saw you at the opera, by the way."

"Did you?!" he says with effeminate, squealing excitement. Lately, one of his favourite things is to do impressions of Misa, who he briefly spoke to on my iPhone a few weeks ago when I was in the shower. I've had my number changed since then. "Oh, Light! I saw you but we didn't see each other at the same time! Our eyes could have met across the crowded room. Stirring music, Valkyries bombing the stage... it would have been beautiful." He loses interest quickly and reverts back to his normal tone after clearing his throat. "As it happened, the opera was shit, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Why didn't you come over?" I ask, slapping my laptop because it was taking so long to boot the fuck up.

"Because it would have ended in tragedy. I thought that you just said that we shouldn't be seen to show any kind of favouritism? Since I never trouble myself to meet and greet people, I don't see why I should start with you. Why does it always have to be me who 'comes over' when we happen to be in the same place at the same time? You never 'come over' because you're trying to protect yourself from losing face and don't give a shit about my reputation. Making me look like a crazy pervert chasing you around like you're some poor young nymph."

"I do give a shit about your reputation. It wouldn't help me if it went tits up, would it? It's just easier for you. You're always alone. Practically alone anyway. Mihael doesn't count."

"You really think that I'm stupid, don't you? I know you," he tells me as he sits on my desk. The nerve of him. "If I make all the effort, it's nothing to do with you because you're on the receiving end... so to speak. You're not pretty enough or rich enough for me to follow you around like a lovesick idiot."

"You're here now, so there must be something going for me. Nobody cares about what you do, anyway. You're just a lawyer."

"I assure you that they do care. Despite being 'just a lawyer', I've actually been told by someone that chasing you is a lost cause. I wish they'd told me months ago."

"Who said that?" I ask, looking at him. Fuckers. I'll murder them.

"Mikami. Your BFF with unusual taste in knitwear. Cardigans slung over his shoulders... pfff. I'm sure that he thinks he's in a film from the 1980s. Having said that, he's very fond of you, I think. He'd still sacrifice you to advance his career though, so don't get misty-eyed."

Oh, just Mikami. Our friendship has been strained since the last reshuffle, but it's improving. He was devastated when I ran for Head of Transport instead of blindly following him as his deputy wherever he went. When I put myself forward, his face was the definition of betrayal and loss. He'd actually have to work for a change. Having accepted that I was officially competition, he promised that he would still support me as his friend. Unfortunately, his promises are much like his head; hollow and empty.

But in terms of this instance of idiocy, I suspect that there's more to it. Mikami isn't the most intuitive person in the world. It's not that he's not capable of it, it's just that he's too self-absorbed to waste his time thinking about other people.

"And why would he think that you were chasing me?"

"He was completely stoned when I spoke to him," Lawliet explains. "Based on that alone, I don't think that he was the best choice for Health. He actually walked up to me in the toilet and said: 'You know that Yagami's not a queer, right?' Obviously I was shocked at this revelation. I was taking a piss at the time too. It was one of those surreal situations you find yourself in in life sometimes. I told him I thought that you were pansexual, in the broadest sense of the word, and would sleep with a cabbage if it asked you nicely."

I grip my hair in frustration before realising that I must not disturb it before the speech, so just settle for a comforting stroke of the back of my head.

"God, Mikami. Why can't he just keep his big bastard Swiss cheese nose out of it?"

"Don't worry because, as I say, he was stoned. Also, I'm well aware that I can't speak to any men without it being construed as a sexual overture by someone. I'm used to this kind of thing and it's funny. Do you know that I'm the only openly homosexual man in the building? All the men are terrified of me, like I'm going to snap one day and go on a buggering rampage, though a few of them are setting up home in the closet and probably wouldn't mind if I did. And we thought that there was progress. I don't know what you are. I suppose you go with whoever has the most to offer you at any one time and, wooo, it looks like it's me at the moment. Lucky me. Anyway, you can't imagine how tempting it was to tell him about what I'd been doing to you a few hours beforehand, but I have to think of your reputation now," he says, his voice racked with regret. He walks back to lie on the lounger again, holding my speech above his face as he reads it

"Who's in the closet?" I can't resist asking.

"You want me to betray my orientation brothers?" He laughs and considers it for a second, "Ok. I had Ukita a few times. Poor nicotine-stained Ukita. Obviously Akutagawa is out of the closet now, out of the cabinet, and probably throwing himself out of a window as we speak."

"Ukita? Wow. Ew. Were you drunk?" I never did like Ukita.

"No. I was a man in a new town who succumbed to intense flattery. He was in awe of me. There are others."

"Tell me," I demand, but then remember what I'm supposed to be doing and how Lawliet shouldn't be here at all. "Not now though. You have to go. Goodbye."

"No I don't," he says defiantly. "God, this speech of yours is awful. 'Blah blah blah standardised complimentary to the party make The Lady proud blah blah the legacy we inherited from the previous government can still be felt today but this government has pledged to make transport more efficient and better value for money which will be vital if service levels are to be maintained in a climate of public spending restraint praise be blah.' You're never going to get any press with this shit."

"Press is not my concern. I have enough press."

There's a timid knock on the door which knocks us into silence before it opens and our coffees are brought in with a bland smile. As soon as the delivery is complete and the door shuts again, Lawliet answers me.

"You can never have enough press, you cretin. If you think that that little statement you hacked out without my consent in favour of a cut in fuel taxes will help you in any way, then you're mistaken. The government will take no notice, as you well know. All you'll do is make yourself a poster boy for the lobbying groups, and no one wants that. Not those dreadlocked people who camp outside of oil refineries singing kum-ba-fucking-yah and waving hand-painted placards of peace signs."

"I don't need your consent when releasing a statement! Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" I say, calming myself down so quickly that I surprise myself. "I've been reliably informed that it was one of my better statements."

"I'd hate to see your bad ones. And you need some help with this speech. Give me a pen."

"I'm not going to take any notice of what you write. I hope that you know that," I tell him as I throw him a pen. It doesn't matter. I've committed the speech to memory for that air of heartfelt spontaneity and to enable eye contact, which is very important. Also, my hands must be free to gesticulate to emphasise my sincerity. "Speaking of, shouldn't you be getting some murderer off the hook in court right now or something?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. I've joined your glorious cabinet as a legal advisor to The Lady. I'm soon to be Head of Press Relations" he says while scribbling on my speech. "My partners at the firm will be getting murderers off the hook for me."

"When did this happen?"

"Unofficially, two months ago. Officially, tomorrow."

"How? Why? When you say 'legal', do you mean 'spin'? Is it to do with you heading the Higuichi inquiry?"

"Oh, that. Inquiry in inverted commas. The Lady only wanted me to put the fear of God into some of you boys and girls. My office will be across the hall, by the way, by my request. It's a nice building, there's a car park opposite and you're here, which cuts out a lot of commuting. And thanks for your overwhelming congratulatory effusions," he sulks. Obviously he thinks that I should be overjoyed by this new situation.

"Of course, congratulations. I'm just surprised."

"I've been paid to do the same role unofficially, more or less, for two years. It's hardly surprising. But she offered me the job and to start immediately two months ago so... "

"I didn't know."

"Why should you? You're just some satellite to give the party an attractive, youthful face, keep up the numbers and make boring speeches about whatever this speech is about. To be honest, I'm completely lost. It could be a menu for a bistro for all I can tell."

I decide to change my shirt for a Yohji Yamamato one, not that anyone will have half a brain cell to notice. The glory of my overflow wardrobe as I open it, strikes me with the sterile scent of newness and chemicals. The plastic covered clothes hang from the rail like carcasses in an abattoir. Oh, Lawliet's still here, isn't he? I should say something.

"Some of us work our way up. We can't all just drift in."

He points at me with the pen.

"That's your problem right there. Your ambition is limited by conformity. You've done very well to win a seat at your age, but you need to take some risks once in a while, Light-kun."

"I told you not to call me that. It's patronising."

"And by coincidence, so is this speech. I'm afraid that I'm not able to salvage it. If you're a good boy, I'll write you a new one."

"I don't need your help, you pompous bastard. Go now. I have to prepare."

"Don't make me think that I'm wasting my time with you, Light," he says. His voice is harsh and cold but I smile at his warning.

"You're not. Good things come to those who wait."

"Strange. You father said something similar when I tried to get access to the police files I wanted all that time ago. He didn't know what to do with me, unlike you. He wouldn't disclose some restricted files to me until they were officially released, so I had to take out a court injunction, which was very annoying. Safe to say that we did not part as friends. How unfortunate that that was just before his retirement. Did he fall or was he pushed? You should invite him to dinner one night. Fuck with me and I'll fuck your son."

"He retired with honours actually," I tell him. "There's a portrait of him in the lobby of the NPA headquaters now."

"Retired? Is that what he told you?"

"No, I know it to be a fact," I say, buttoning up my shirt. It's a beautiful thing. "What are you insinuating?"

"Absolutely nothing. So, now that Ukita has moved on to a better place, I suppose that we should discuss your plans for yet another reshuffle."

Yes, unfortunately the deaths show no sign of easing off, but then, in such a large establishment, deaths are to be expected. It's just more newsworthy when Heads die. Ukita was Head of Education. I say 'was', because two days ago, Ukita had a stroke, probably aggravated by years of smoking, and there will be another reshuffle in his wake. A bill has been passed to allow the process to move more quickly due to the unprecedented epidemic. It's worrying really. It could strike any of us and I struggle to keep up with it. Rumours in the more ridiculous, outlandish papers are calling it 'The Curse of the Heads', which I think sounds like an Agatha Christie novel. As Mikami is making little impact in Health, he hopes to take Ukita's empty seat. Recently, we've rekindled our collaboration-dressed-up-as-friendship as I offered my support in his campaign, whatever he chooses to do.

"My plans? I suppose that I should put myself forward for Mikami's seat in Health if he gets Education," I shrug. It's the natural conclusion. Mikami set a precedent with moving from Transport to Health, and I must follow. Any less would be humiliating.

"Ah, the slow rise to power," Lawliet sighs.

"You're the one making it slow. If you'd just introduce me to Watari and Takada then it would cut out all this bollocks."

"It wouldn't. You have to climb the ladder yourself to a certain point first, but you really are taking it slowly though, aren't you? This is why you occasionally get frustrated and want to launch in and make friends with the top brass. You don't need to do that yet, but you should aim a bit higher in terms of roles. I would suggest that you do. You know how actions speak louder than words, or make people more willing to take notice anyway."

"You think that I should aim for Education?"

The thought had occurred to me, but it's ones of those things that I can't be vocal about. I can only muse about them in the cell of my mind.

"Why not? You're not worried about the 'curse', are you?"

"No," I laugh. "Well, I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't a bit concerned that it may point to some kind of autoimmune disease which is spreading throughout the House, but I still have some grip on reality. Still, Secretary of State for Transport is a very, very respectable seat for someone my age, but Education would be completely unheard of. I only left the education system myself a few years ago so it's very unlikely that I'd win against Mikami... but I suppose that I could try. What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"Worst scenario is that you'd stay exactly where you are and Mikami will hate you for a few weeks. It wouldn't seem egotistical, not after what you've done in Transport. It would just suggest a confidence in your abilities and a willingness to step up to bat," he says, confirming what I think. "And if you weren't voted in, it would be no reflection on you, it would be purely due to your age. And such is the unfairness of life. Why not take advantage of all these tragic circumstances?"

"It's not a case of taking advantage. That's morally reprehensible."

"Oh, Light. There you go again. Cut the inanity with me, please, and say it how it is. I see no reason why you shouldn't stand a good chance. You've been well suited for Transport. After all, you own a car. You've done well, and you're clever, so Education would be easy for you. I bet that you have a little plan in that lovely little brain of yours. Secretary of State for Transport, Health, Education, Cabinet, Treasury, Top."

"You left out Foreign Affairs. That's very important," I say, amending his list.

"Oh, of course. The Foreign Office would be perfect for you," he smiles into the now decimated pages of my speech. "You should be aiming for Education now to time it right. Skip Health if you can; it brings nothing but trouble and the best you can hope for is to keep the status quo on the budget. Education, on the other hand, has more possibilities and chance of making some noticeable improvements quickly."

I look at my watch and then lean back in my chair to appear to consider his idea. "Compete against Mikami?" I ask. Not particularly to Lawliet, but for his benefit.

"Why not? You should be more impulsive and spare no one. You could do it. If played properly, The Lady could be kicked out before the end of her term. She's been around too long and people are tired of seeing her. They'll want someone completely different for leader; someone young, male, with progressive ideas and a lack of jewellery," he pauses and lifts his head to look at me. "Fortune favours the brave, Light," he says tenderly. Fuck. Sometimes he says the simplest things and makes them sound pornographic. I glance at my watch again. No. No can do.

"To win, you have to plan before you attack," I say before sighing at the heartrending complications of going into battle with a friend. "Besides, I couldn't do that to Mikami."

Lawliet breathes out with irritation. "Oh, Mikami, Mikami. He'd trample on you without a second thought if it was the other way around. Sometimes I think that you're too good for this world, Light. Your ideals are too lofty and well-meaning. You shouldn't be considerate in politics. Haven't you learned that yet?"

"I was under the impression that we're here to serve the public and do what's right. How can we accomplish that if everyone is corrupt?" My tone becomes deeper with the weight of my resolution. "No, if anyone can do this and do it right, it's me. I'm the only one who can do this."

And my eyes flicker over Lawliet's face as he gazes at me, his own eyes suddenly soft and heavy. He exhales slowly and drops my speech on his lap.

"My _God_, you're attractive when you're righteous and arrogant," he says.

"Thank you for noticing. Why all the sudden interest in my career advancement plans though? You haven't really shown any interest in anything much besides my attractiveness since we met."

"There's where you're wrong. I'm interested in you full stop. You see, while I have no particular aspirations in politics or care about the good of this or any other country, I like a challenge. I see one in making you all that you could be."

"Because I need your help?" I laugh at the cockiness of his statement, stand, and walk lazily towards him. "In contrast, you're particularly unattractive when you're righteous and arrogant."

"Now you know that's not true," he replies. "Are you someone who can't accept the offer of help? You're wrong to dismiss me. I can make or break careers and lives. You should take advantage of my ideas and influence."

I lean down so my face is just a little way away from his. "I should take advantage of you?" I ask softly. He takes a breath.

"Or that. You should always do that," he tells me. I smile indulgently before quickly pulling away and walking back to my desk.

"I'd love to," I say, "but I only have ten minutes until my car arrives."

"Cocktease is the word which springs to mind with you, Light."

"You could always meet me at my apartment later," I tell him, while reaching for one of my contact cards.

"_Your_ apartment?" he gasps comically. "I thought that it was out of bounds? I don't even know where it is."

It's true. Seven months and he hasn't even seen my 'erotic' netsuke collection. It's hilarious.

I walk back to him and hold out my card between two fingers.

"This is my address. I'm on the fifth floor. Don't draw attention to yourself." He takes it, unsurprisingly.

"The scene of the crime," he says. He means my latest skirmish with Misa, who managed to flirt her way into my building and, when finding that I'd had the locks changed, went apeshit trying to get into my apartment. She was arrested and released on bail. I didn't press charges, though I had to have my apartment door sanded and re-polished. I sent the invoice to the landlord. "This may seem like a stupid question," Lawliet continues, "but are you really not upset that your ex-girlfriend has gone completely insane?"

"I tried, but it just doesn't seem to come naturally," I sigh. No, it doesn't. Mostly because I always suspected her to be just one ambulance trip away from a straitjacket.

"She sounds like a full-time job and sings so badly. Suicide attempts all over your bed as well."

"You know about that?"

"I told you, I know everything. It's my business. I still wonder who informed the press about her and Jeevas."

"It might have been Mikami. I haven't mentioned it and he hasn't either, but he probably suspected something," I tell him.

Lawliet continues to question me in a passive way by making it look like small talk. He doesn't think that it was Mikami who blabbed to the press, I can tell. You can take the man from the courtroom but you can't take the courtroom from the man. He uses this tactic to find out exactly what he wants to know without you noticing. It probably works with most people.

"When I saw him the other night, he was being propped up by someone. I seem to remember him being in a similar state the night before the story broke."

"The man propping him up would have been Touta. He's my brother-in-law. You've met him, he's a civil servant in Health. Nothing special."

"Ah. He looked equally worse for wear. I'm sure that your father's thrilled. You looked brilliant as ever, I remember it like it was yesterday. But would you ever allow yourself to be anything less? But Mikami didn't look like he was in the position to call for a taxi, never mind the press, on either night."

"Whoever did it, I'm grateful," I say, I put my jacket on and check my tie in the mirror. "Call round after six. That'll give me time for the press call."

He laughs and picks up his own jacket, which he slings over one arm. The irritating, lanky shit.

"You think that there'll be a press call after this horrible little speech?" he asks. "Are you wearing _that_?"

"No, I was going to put on a tracksuit. What is wrong with you?" I pull back the lapel of my jacket to show him the detailing. "Look at the stitching on this thing. Look at it."

"I'm not sure what I'm looking at, but yes."

"This is an expensive, hand-finished suit. You should learn about them because they're very important. I'm frustrated by how you take no interest in these things."

"I'm very frustrated also. I'm not used to not getting what I came for, but I'll leave you to it. Sorry about your speech but I couldn't get excited about trains, planes, and automobiles that I don't own. It's below both of us. If you let me, I could get you out of here and into Education with no competition. Do your best!" he calls over on his way to the door.

"Lawliet, what do you mean?"

"L," he corrects me.

"L then."

He stands with one hand on the door handle.

"Well, Light, I have the power to help you, and I know that's why you honour me with your time and affection, but please listen to what I say. Your press coverage has been severely lacking. Non-existent really. There's being in the paper because you've been nice to some old lady, or held someone's baby or because of some speech which no one is interested in, and then there's proper press, which you do not have. So, we'll have to do something about that. Pro bono, of course. Money-wise, anyway. You couldn't afford me otherwise."

"And nothing in return?" I ask.

"Nothing you're not giving me for free at the moment anyway. But there is something that you could do."

"What?"

"Rumours. Gossip. Anything with a shred of truth. Whatever you have, give it to me. Anything you think is interesting and could be blown into a scandal."

Oh. Well, that's fine, he can have that. I'm all for bringing down these bastards around me, but for some reason he looks like he's gearing himself up for me to revolt against this suggestion, and I can't disappoint him.

"I'm not sure that I want to work with you if you're going to use me to damage the government," I state with some sadness and just a whisper of hurt. My pitch is perfect.

"Nothing like that," he says, shaking his head. "Do you think I want to bring down my employer? I'm not dependant on this job, I know, but I have no reason to kick them out of office. It's for you. Or, more specifically, for my entertainment. You're my pet project. In return for the rise in your public profile and to make the path clear for you to get into Education, we should start handing out stories to the media. It's beneficial in that it'll make you look honest and moral when your contemporaries are acting unwisely. Like these trips to Haruki's - cut them down, and when you do go, pay for them on your private account. So many people are charging the state for their nightly booze-ups. That story might break soon, and when it does you'll be one of the only parliamentarians who's squeaky clean. That's how it'll look in the press. I'll wipe any of your previous account statements which are questionable and we'll start from scratch."

"Selling stories to the press? You expect me to degrade myself like that?"

"No, you're not. I am. I only expect honesty and it really shouldn't be so difficult for you. Tell me the things you hear after a hard day at the office. Anything which outrages you. I know that despite your morbid interest in immorality, you have a spectacular ability to be disgusted by it at the same time. Tell me the things that you'd tell your lover. Ooops, I suppose that's what I am, aren't I?"

"No. This is nothing. Call me if you're planning on turning up at my office again. Let's try to keep this discreet," I say, turning away and catching sight of my profile in the full length mirror. Where's my fucking car already?

"We could have sex on the benches in the middle of Prime Minister's Questions for all it matters. I told you, the press is mine. So, you really think that this is nothing?"

"Really," I say firmly. "This does not equal a relationship. It's business."

"Who said anything about a relationship? No need to get so serious, Light. Anyway, think about it. We can discuss it later," he says and leaves. I'm thankful for a moment alone. My days are so full lately.

* * *

Mikami is throwing one of his spontaneous (but actually planned months in ahead in this case) social evenings. Apparently the intention is to raise morale, but the real reason is that it's in honour of Watari's birthday because Mikami is an incredible arselicker. It's quite a privilege to be here and I've been looking forward to it for months. I had a suit made especially for it in fact. Silk lined, black with a very subtle bronze sheen, single-breasted, super 150 grade tight weave with a nice drape and doesn't crease, three buttons (which are notoriously difficult to wear well. Some consider them a fad but I think they sort the men from the boys) and tailored to within an inch of its life. I had five fittings.

It's not respectable to be a social butterfly flitting from one group of people to the other, but I bow and nod and smile and speak when spoken to. The music here is absolute shit, but that's Mikami for you. For such an expensive house, the acoustics here sound like we're in a garage. I smile at some woman from the Cabinet Office who's standing self-consciously in the corner of the room. She's ignoring the person who's talking to her so she can watch me instead. I can't charge for it.

"Hey, Light," a voice says behind me, I feel the touch of her hand on my back, so I turn to face her. I have to take a moment to take her in because, the last time I saw her, her hair was all over her face and the back of her head was banging against a wall.

"Hi, Naomi. I didn't know that you'd be here."

I suppose that Mikami did manage to get Shiori to invite her after all. Frankly, I'm surprised that she's here. After splitting up with Jeevas, she has no reason to be.

"Shiori invited me. How are you doing?" she asks, giving me the once over. "You look good!" I'm quite aware of that, but bow in thanks anyway.

Naomi's grief is so strong that she appears to have increased her bra size. They're quite impressive and defy gravity. Someone bumps into her while passing by and she grabs her chest to cushion the blow. I'm not sure if I should mention them, but since I've seen their previous incarnation several times and now that they're like another person in themselves, I feel like they deserved to be greeted. I gesture towards them with my glass of wine.

"Nice... uh. Very nice."

"Oh!" she gasps and then, while clutching them again in order to lean forward, she whispers to me. "Do you like them?" she says, practically shoving them in my face. I smile endearingly.

"I always did."

This pleases her immensely and in an attempt to hide her happiness, she presses her cheek to her bare shoulder briefly.

"I've been thinking about it for a while and I had a couple of weeks off work, so... After Matt I just thought: 'Fuck you, Matt, I'm going to do some reconstruction work on myself.' Y'know? Is he here?"

"Have you ever known him to miss free drinks?"

"Good. I want him to see them. Are they level?" she asks, standing back so I can appreciate the balance better.

"Like buoys on a calm sea."

"Do you think so? Hey, I'm sorry about the Misa and Matt thing. He's such a fucking bastard, Light."

I nod.

"He is, but Misa's partly responsible."

"She's crazy, if you ask me. They both are. I've been reading a book about this; codependency and emotional dysfunction and stuff, and I think I understand now. Matt has low self-esteem issues."

"You think that Jeevas has low self-esteem?" I ask, stunned. "Naomi, it's really nice of you to be so understanding but I think he just wanted to fuck Misa, to be honest."

"No, no, no, Light. You haven't read this book. You see, I'm an inverted narcissist, that's what my condition is. That's the technical term. I'm not up myself, I'm a giver. And Matt's low self-esteem prevents him from accepting praise, love, and affection, which I offer him selflessly, so he suppresses his emotions and acts in ways to invite people to reject him. He's avoiding life, really. He needs to heal his life and embrace a loving relationship."

"It sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this." I am unable to blink.

"But Misa is a complete slut," she hisses, her demeanour changing in an instant. "Bleached blonde shit. I always thought that you were a saint to put up with her."

"She has her problems. They're not mine anymore though so - oooof!"

Naomi launches herself suddenly into my side like a rugby tackle and knocks the wind out of me. She grabs my hand and poses my arm around her back like I'm a mannequin. The whole interaction causes me to spill some wine on the carpet, so I rub it in with my shoe.

"Shhhh... Matt," she whispers.

Oh. Excellent. I draw her closer to me and we both smile broadly while awaiting Jeevas' inevitable arrival. He makes a beeline towards us and then makes a bad attempt at appearing to be happy to see us.

"Yagami. Naomi," he says.

"Jeevas," I reply cheerfully while Naomi beams her spotlight-on-a-criminal smile at him.

"Didn't expect to see you both here," he scowls, and then looks Naomi up and down. "Naomi, what have you done to yourself? Have you been in an accident?"

"No, this is getting myself back together after splitting up from a cheating, worthless, dirty, inconsiderate, selfish, whoreman. I suppose that I should thank you for doing that to me because I've sorted out my life and I'm now in emotional recovery."

"I don't remember doing _that_ to you," he says, pointing at her chest. "What the fuck?"

"I'm sorry, Matt. Is that the faint sound of jealousy I hear?" she asks, grabbing my hand which dangles over her shoulder and holding onto it for dear life. Jeevas looks at me and squints in anger, so I look towards the window and sip my wine nonchalantly.

"Yeah, Naomi," he replies sarcastically. "I'm jealous because you have wine and I don't. What's going on here anyway?"

Naomi flips her hair.

"I don't know what you're talking about. We're at a party, Matt. But then, life is just one long party for you, isn't it?"

"Bit desperate to just go off with Yagami, isn't it? No offence, Yagami," he mutters. I smile condescendingly in acknowledgement and turn back towards the window and the little important social meetings that I'm missing out on.

Mikami is talking to Watari. I'm insanely envious. This could be my opportunity to introduce myself and I must make it happen. I try to pry Naomi's hand from the headlock she has me in, but she just grasps my shirt collar to hold me in place. As I stare longingly at Mikami and Watari, L walks in front of them, sees me, waves and wanders towards us. Fuck's sake, no.

"Light, long time no see. How did your speech go?" he asks. It's 'Yagami', you idiot! Wait, if I can palm him off to Naomi, I can get out of here.

"Lawliet, this is Naomi Misora and she's the curator at The Z00 art gallery. Naomi, this is -"

"Hello," she blurts out, annoyed at the interruption and turns back to Jeevas.

"Jeevas, who on earth invited you here?" L asks.

"I'm employed by the government, Lawliet, and this is a government event. What's your excuse?"

"I'm glad that someone did employ you in the end. Was it part of some initiative for bringing the feeble-minded into the workplace?" This comment endears Lawliet to Naomi, who lets go of me to belatedly introduce herself to him.

"Lawliet-san, I think we're going to be very good friends," she says sweetly. He looks at her like he's only just noticed that she exists.

"Perhaps. If you tell me where you got that glass of wine."

She waves vaguely behind her. "Some boy,"

"You mean Light?"

"Do I look like a waiter?" I ask. "She means that there are trays going around but I haven't seen one for ten minutes. The caterers are fucking appalling," I say as I finish my glass.

L turns back to Naomi. "Misora-san, I wonder if I could borrow Light from you for a minute?"

"Where are you taking him?"

"Errr..."

"Yep, you can borrow me," I say. I prise Naomi from myself forcefully, take Lawliet's elbow and steer him in the opposite direction. "Thank you," I whisper when we're within safe distance.

"You were clearly in some difficulty. Misora... is that the happy ex of our friend, Jeevas? She's bigger than her photo in the papers suggests."

"I could not give a shit about Naomi and her silicone right now. Introduce me to Watari," I demand. We're hovering on the periphery like vultures.

"Is he here?" He looks around and notices my prey. "Oh, yes. So he is. I'm not sure that now is the right time. It's far too early."

"What are you talking about, too early? This is the perfect opportunity!"

"It might seem that way to you but -"

He stops abruptly as a woman's voice begins screaming behind us. We both turn to look, along with everyone else in the room, and it appears that Naomi has thrown her glass of wine over Jeevas. The exultation I feel is exquisite. I look around to see the damage that this will have on him. Some of the older politicians are leaving already and I can't help but notice that those who are left are trying to be blind to the fact that there's a domestic going on in the middle of the room. They move their mouths in a pretence of continuing a conversation, but they're waiting for someone to throw a chair and for Jeevas and Naomi to glass each other in the face. The shouting doesn't really make much sense. I can hardly make out the individual words as the blood rushes through my ears with the joy of seeing Jeevas' hair and face dripping Domaine Chevalier Pere & Fils Corton-Charlemagne Grand Cru all down his suit while he bellows at Naomi.

The argument is interrupted by Mikami, who quietly and unwisely stands between the two.

"Erm, I'm sorry, but can you keep it down a bit?" he asks. His eyes scan the room, find me, and beg me for backup. I make an attempt to take a step forward, but am held back by L. He's right. I can't help with this. I can't afford to be associated with it. Let Jeevas take the full hit.

While Naomi batters Jeevas over the head with open hands and he cowers, Mikami manages to quickly steer them to the open door of the balcony, pushes them outside, shuts the door, draws the blinds and turns to the room.

"Let's put on some loud fucking music then, shall we?" he shouts cheerfully, and starts madly thumbing his iPod looking for something appropriately loud to drown out the continuing argument outside. Most of the older, influential politicians seem to have left now, ruining his party. Perhaps due to the time, perhaps because of how the sophisticated evening swiftly descended into a brawl you'd expect at a bar in a rough part of town. I glance around the room but can't see Watari. Panic seizes me, gripping my heart like a vice, so I approach Mikami who's putting some booming shit on the stereo.

"Mikami, where's Watari?" I ask.

"He left."

"Shit."

"Never mind, Yagami," he says, slapping me on the back consolingly. "Besides, how can you talk to him when there's a raging bitchslap going on? Fuck, can you find something on this thing?" He hands me the iPod. He's had a line or ten recently. He's a little ball of energy, sniffing compulsively. "It's just women. Fucking mentalists."

"And Jeevas," I point out.

"Well, Jeevas is just a man, and a very stupid one at that, but we have to stick together. Y'know, for the brotherhood? It's always the woman's fault." I nod in agreement as L drifts up beside me.

"I wanted to see how it would end," he says sadly. "They were about two minutes away from pulling each other's hair."

"Hey, did you see the tits on Naomi?" Mikami asks, his eyes round as dinner plates.

* * *

My teeth are perfect for this job.

There's a photograph of me in the paper. I'm standing next to an old woman who's draping herself all over me, but the composition of the photo and the gulf of difference in our age and genetics makes me look like the shining beacon of the future. There are rumblings in the lower ranks that I am the future.

L has seen my erotic netsuke collection and is now sitting on my sofa with a vodka. Oh, L. I couldn't have wished for better. Usually this kind of whoring out involves an old, loveless degenerate and you find no joy in it. But truly, I would have picked L out for myself anyway. He's none of those things, and I don't even consider this to be a sale anymore. Sure, we both gain from this. I do more obviously than he does, and I'm still not certain of his reasons. He genuinely seems to enjoy using information, which I now freely give him, to massacre those he finds flawed and/or help me advance. Sometimes he uses his discretion as to who he sells out to the press, like how I've convinced him not to target Mikami so far with my heartfelt pleas. I wouldn't say never - the sword is hanging by a thin thread above Mikami's head - but there will come a time when it's the right time, and most beneficial to me. Now might be the right time. He's officially put himself forward for the Education job. I plan to announce my pitch next week. I stand abruptly from my chair and walk to my bookcase, dragging my finger distractedly along the spines and drink my double shot in one go. L notices, of course he does.

"You seem particularly pensive tonight, Light," he comments. "Do have anything you need to say?"

"No. I..." I pause, overwhelmed by the inner turmoil I should feel. L loses patience with me quickly.

"Come on, spit it out. We both have work tomorrow."

"Mikami might... might have a problem," I confess.

"Which is?"

"He's been using more and more lately. I'm worried about him."

"Oh, Mikami the coke fiend."

"What should I do?"

"To help him? There's nothing you can do. You know what I think," he says, drinks his vodka and sets the glass back on the table.

"You want me to sell him out now, don't you?"

"You already have. I'm just waiting for you to say the word."

I actually feel shaky with nervousness. Or anticipation. One of the two. There's something on the horizon and I could be there by next week.

"If I did, what would you do?" I ask, turning to face him.

"Me? Not a thing. I might happen to mention it to a journalist, but apart from that..."

"That'll destroy him."

"He'll only have himself to blame. And, Light, no more of this," he says, pulling out a little clear bag of white stuff from the pocket of my jacket which lies on the sofa next to him. So he roots through my clothes when I'm not looking. Subterfuge detecting shit.

"It's Mikami's."

"Whatever you say," he mutters dismissively, tossing the bag onto the table. "I don't doubt that you only do this with Mikami to encourage him. Yes, I know you." He does, a little. He knows me and likes what he finds. What a twisted bastard.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Mikami's my friend, I'd never do that to him. And I'm a dedicated, hardworking, government official. Why do you think I'd risk that for some drugs?"

"Peer pressure maybe? I don't know, Light. You have to stop pretending to care about Mikami or anyone else. You are in this for yourself. I know that, you know that. I'm allowing you to use me. It's a consensual thing. Believe me, if I didn't see that there was something in this for myself then we wouldn't be here. I'm not one of your dewy eyed girlfriends. There's as much for me to gain here as there is for you, so you can stop with the lies and these little performances."

"I hate lies. I can still regret having to tell you these things, knowing what you'll do. Mikami helped me to where I am now."

"And now he's outlived his usefulness. What you don't need is an association with a junkie and a scandal waiting to happen whether I blow the whistle on him or not. It's getting to the point now that if we leave it any longer then we'll be too late to benefit from it. These things always come out eventually. If it comforts you, by doing this, he'll be forced to sort himself. At least something good can come from his mistakes."

"Education," I say, coldly. Is it worth selling one of your closest associates out for a job? Yes. Yes it is.

"Of course, Education. And it'll benefit Health too. Whoever takes over can't be as bad as Mikami is. What does it look like, first having a man who has congestive heart failure on the job and then his successor being a drug-addict? They need someone wholesome and clean-living. I hope they can find someone appropriate because I can't think of anyone who fits that description. But I want you for Education. That is, unless you're frightened by the prospect? Maybe it'll be a bit too much responsibility for you. Sometimes I forget how young you are. Most twenty-six year olds who work for the government are pushing sandwich trolleys around."

"I'm not frightened," I say defiantly. "But, L. Education, already?"

"I think you're ready," he assures me with a smile. "The thing with you, Light, is that you're the kind of person who could be dropped into any situation and find their feet within seconds. But you don't need me to tell you that." No, I don't. But it's nice to hear it all the same.

"You really believe in me, don't you?" I say, walking towards him.

"I suppose that I must do. I doubt that I'm blinded by love and ecstasy."

I sit down next to him and hope that I look appropriately humble.

"You make things so easy for me."

"What do you mean? That's my job, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I don't know what you're doing this for."

"Truthfully, I find you fascinating. In you I see a storm coming and I'm impatient to see it happen. A new world," he says.

Fuck me. He knows it. He believes it. People say that they have dreams for a new world - a better one - all the time, but my thoughts are not dreams; they're reality in waiting. I reach for the back of his neck and draw myself closer to him. His mouth opens expectantly and I allow my lips hover just over his so I can feel his breath on my face.

"You're right," I whisper. "I see it. I've always known it."

"Bring it to the people, Light," he whispers back to me. I wouldn't hear him if I wasn't so close. "Give them your new world."

So I kiss him and it's rather savage, I admit. All my energy I'll give to him for what he's given me, and he can only have what I allow him to have because I'm afraid that's how things are.

I draw away briefly to climb on top of him, parting his legs with my knee. His hands curl around my head, not allowing me much distance, and he pulls me down upon him. I appreciate the heat, pressure, and pulse against me. It's amusing. And I scramble to force my hand into his trousers which makes him take a sharp, rasping intake of breath which I interrupt by sweeping my tongue into his mouth. He groans softly and tilts his head to press his lightly stubbled cheek to mine like I've surprised him and he needs some time to recover. Shouldn't he know by now? Idiot.

So I kiss his neck and suck on the skin where his jaw curves towards his ear, otherwise I might as well check facebook or read the paper instead. His body jerks against me involuntarily, I feel him, hard against my thigh and, ah... that was all I needed for this to be mutually beneficial. I'm invested now. It's impossible not to release broken gasps into his mouth as his hand rushes, clasping to pull at my shirt and slide it along my spine. Suddenly, literally out of nowhere, all I really want in the world is to fuck him so hard that I have to mentally slap myself out this stupidity I've fallen into as blood pools in my groin. His tongue pushes inside my mouth, breaths gusting through our noses and across each other's faces like we're in a fucking wind tunnel.

Kissing him is normally like this. Nice and everything on a basic level, but what makes them for me is the desperate, aggressive urgency he throws in; all teeth, tongue, and absolutely no air. Thankfully, I'm an excellent swimmer and can hold my breath for four minutes and sixteen seconds, which comes in handy sometimes. He strains against my hand, and with a little 'how very dare you' squeeze of my fist, he groans and fights for breath as I drown him. Look at him, all pathetic and panting out a "fuck" like that. And I don't bother to hide my smug satisfaction when I smile. This seems like a natural break in proceedings (it's not like I want the poor bastard to hyperventilate and die on me), so I take the opportunity to pull away and deal with getting rid of these stupid clothes we're wearing. He watches me, and in his eyes there are flashes of desire for something dangerous. I feel almost affectionate towards him for it because it's just so unguarded. I can't help it.

It's moments like this when I realise how easily my rationality can disappear when he says and does exactly the right thing at the right time.


	3. I Am Not Here, I'm Just A Silhouette

**A/N **I'm rushing this stuff out because I go back to uni in a week and will have no opportunity to write anything then. Let's see if I can finish it in a week (this will never happen). This one is particularly heavy in swearwords and I'm sorry if that offends anyone. I would suggest that you avoid this entire fic if that's the case. I couldn't really get around it because that's the nature of Matt's game. It's Matt's fault.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**I Am Not Here, I'm Just A Silhouette You Will Never, Ever Forget**

* * *

I'm on page seven of _The Star_. I should start a scrapbook.

Apart from that, today could not have been any less eventful. A few of us have been invited to a concert (classical - I should have brought a travel pillow with me) by a virtuoso violinist who I met at a party a few weeks ago. Well, I was invited, but she offered a extra tickets for some of my 'friends' as an afterthought since they were sitting there too. She made it very obvious to Mikami, Touta, and I, being one of those sexually open bohemian types, that she wants me in her bed and thinks that once I see her play the violin then I'll be in there with a sock on my cock. I don't know if I will. I haven't decided what to do about it yet. Sitting here in the restaurant beforehand, it seems like a complete waste of time.

Something which has more lingering excitement is that I've been invited onto a late night politics programme, which will coincide perfectly with the announcement that I'm running for Education. Usually the Cabinet send some sacrificial lamb either to prove themselves or to deflect attention from the people who are actually responsible for something unpopular. It can get quite nasty sometimes. Many a politician at the start of their career has died on that show, figuratively speaking.

"So where's this piece then?" Jeevas asks. He's tagged along. Bought his own ticket. I had some spare ones but I donated them to a charity raffle. I wouldn't have given one to him anyway.

"You can't refer to a woman as a 'piece'. That's chauvinistic and disrespectful," I correct him, sipping my wine afterwards. I've noticed that leaders tend to have a glass of water after answering a question well, so I'm practicing. "She's the lead violinist. Her violin is probably worth more than your apartment."

"Nyyyyeaaahh. Hey, let's play Fuck, Marry, Avoid!"

"Isn't it 'Kiss, Marry, Avoid'?" Touta says, awkwardly. Sayu is here as the sole female. I decided a while ago to let Touta be in charge of protecting her from the world. Personally, I think that she should be exposed to as much hideousness as possible so she can see the world as it currently stands, and then see it change. It's not all Hello Kitty, manicures, and pretty dresses. I know that she won't be corrupted, she'll be as disgusted as I am. Same blood and all that. As it happens, she's sitting at the same table as Jeevas, so she's exposed to hideousness incarnate.

"Kiss, fuck. Same thing," Jeevas explains. "Ok, Sayu, you go first."

"Oh! Erm..."

"Don't be shy, let's go around the table. We're all friends here."

No, I can't do it. "Let's not bring my sister into this barrel of shit, shall we?"

"I don't mind, Light," Sayu protests. "I just have to think about it." This pleases Jeevas, who bounces round in his chair until he's facing her.

"Cool. Right. Me first. Would you fuck me?"

"Watch out, Lawliet's about," Mikami mutters into his hand. "Nobody let on and maybe -"

"L!" I shout and raise my arm like I'm desperate answer a question. An actual semi-intelligent person! As rare as finding a penguin in the Serengeti. He sees me and makes his way over to our table with Mihael trailing behind him.

"Oh, hello," he says, cooly. "I didn't expect to see you all here."

"Sit down," I tell him, stealing a chair from the next table.

"I can't. I'm with Watari."

"Huh?"

"Work based dinner and then an evening with The Lady at this classical nonsense concert." Why does he never mention these things?

"Where are they now?" I ask.

"We're meeting her there. We have a box -"

"Oooooh, a box at the opera house! Fancy," Jeevas says snidely and grabs the bottle of white. L glares at him and continues.

"But Watari's in the bathroom and may be some time. He has prostate trouble. We've heard all about it, haven't we, Mihael? It's like pissing glass apparently."

"Nice," I reply. "Well if he's going to be pissing glass for a while then sit the fuck down and bring your boy."

He sighs. "Mihael, here are some awful people I don't really want you to meet."

"Hey," Mihael holds an limp hand up in greeting as his blond hair drips over his face. He's bored by us and this whole experience as L introduces us.

"This is Jeevas from Foreign, Mikami from Health, Light you've met, Matsuda from Health, and..." he pauses at Sayu. "I don't know who you are, I'm sorry. Are you awful too?"

"No. I'm Sayu."

"Sayu's my sister," I tell him. He nods in understanding.

"I should have noticed the resemblance but you look nothing alike. Pleased to meet you."

"Sayu's my wife," Touta says proudly. Sayu snuggles up inside the crook of his arm which hangs off the back of her chair, infinitely pleased still to be described as being other people's possessions.

"Here," Jeevas says, stealing another chair for Mihael. I wonder if the person at that table had company? Oh well. "Put your arses on those. We're playing Fuck, Marry, Avoid."

L takes a seat. "Oh. That's a strange game for such an elitist restaurant."

"Jeevas is playing it," Mikami explains defensively.

"Yagami is going to fuck, marry, or avoid some violinist who's after him. He's inspired us," Jeevas chirps. He's out of his skull tonight. "Of course, she hasn't met me yet. I'll make it my mission in life to steal her away."

"Lucky Yagami. His milkshake brings all the girls to the yard," L says, eyebrows raised.

"Actually, you're perfect because you give this a homosexual spin and we can learn how we need to change so we can appeal to the minorities. Oh, and it means that the rest of us can be more inclusive in our choices. No holes barred. You start and we'll go around the table."

"So I turn up and bring the gay?" L asks. "I'll pass, thanks. I hardly think that that's interesting, enlightening, or necessary, but you go ahead."

"Go on," Mihael says, nudging L. What the hell with the overfamiliarity? Bastard should know his place.

"Oh God. I went to law school for this? Ok, Mihael, don't be scared, but I think that I'd marry you after your trip to the coffee shop for me this morning. Avoid. I'm sorry, Sayu but your gender repulses me. Matsuda, I'm not sure what fucking what be involved with you, if any, but I'd give it a shot. Jeevas, avoid. Mikami, fuck and then avoid. Yagami, fuck. There you go."

Jeevas can't quite get his head around it. "You'd avoid me?"

"Yes. I've met you, you see."

Mikami smacks me firmly on the back. "Yagami, your turn."

"I'm not sure if I want to hear this," Sayu muses. I hold my glass out for Jeevas to reluctantly pour me some wine since he's hogging the bottle.

"Come on now, Sayu. You're a big girl now." I give everyone a brief glance and imagine myself in a post-apocalyptic, rebuilding humanity scenario in which men could breed. "Mihael, I don't know you, but fuck, possibly. Sayu, that would be incest. Tou -"

"Yes, but would you?"

"Shut up, Jeevas. Touta, marry. Jeevas, avoid. Mikami, marry."

"Oh, Yagami! Thanks. I appreciate it, my friend," Mikami smiles. We share a bromance moment.

"You're welcome."

"And what about me?" L asks.

"Fuck." I admit it. I'm guilty. Hang me. L grins from the might of the entertainment.

"I'd feel honoured but you seem to be willing to fuck or marry everyone here apart from Jeevas and your sister."

"I'm not discriminatory. It would all be dependant on me being completely ratarsed anyway."

"And we all know what happens when you get ratarsed," Jeevas says. "Miki, your go."

"Mihael, fuck. Sayu, fuck."

"Hey!" Touta objects while Sayu wiggles in her seat.

"It's a game, dude," Mikami explains before pointing his finger at him. "And you, Matsuda, I would fuck and make you cry while I'm at it. Jeevas, I would S&M your arse. You deserve it. You'd be nothing but a pile of steaming, quivering shit. Yagami, marry."

"Thank you, Mikami," I say. We share another bromance moment. All is forgotten.

"You're welcome. And, Lawliet. Fuck, I guess. I don't know. I'm a bit frightened of you."

"That's a completely normal reaction but you wouldn't regret it," L tells him. Jeevas carpe diems.

"My go! I'd fuck everyone, even Yagami. You know me. That was easy. Matsuda?"

"Erm. I'd avoid everyone apart from my wife. Sorry." He pecks her on the cheek.

"Oh, Matsuda. You poor, sweet boy," Mikami says with a healthy dose of pity.

Sayu coos at her husband, "I'd avoid everyone too, apart from Touta."

"Mihael?"

"I'd probably fuck everyone too, to be honest," he says with a hint of shame at his better nature.

"Well, aren't we generous?" Jeevas exhales. "That wasn't any fun at all. Maybe we should put it into action. We've got an hour before Vivaldi."

"How's your day been, Yagami?" L asks.

"I've been working on my backhand."

"Excellent. I look forward to seeing it."

Jeevas looks between the two of us. "What are you talking about?"

"Tennis," we say in unison.

"And how's your day been?" I ask L.

"Work has been draining and The Lady gave me a record. I don't own a record player so this could be a problem. And I've been working on my serve."

"Your serve? I wouldn't say that it needs any work really, but then I'm easily pleased. You can use my record player if you want? I don't know what the make is but the rest of my system is Bose," I say proudly. Mihael seems unable to hold back and comes out of his shell.

"Modern Bose systems are for idiots who need to be told who the best are. Everyone who _knows_ knows that 70s sound systems are by far the best when combined with decent speakers." He tells us this as if we're vaguely interested and in a tone reserved for a class of children who all failed their tests.

L shrugs. "Nevertheless, I might take you up on that. Thank you, Yagami."

"What's the record she's leant you?"

"'Man of Mystery' by The Shadows. I don't know either. It's her favourite song, apparently."

"Let's youtube it the fuck up," Jeevas says, grabbing his phone. "Sha...dows. Christ, it's hard being bilingual. Here we go. Rack it up."

He places his phone on the table and we all crowd around the tiny screen to see three men in terrible trousers, dancing from side to side with their guitars. After a minute, we realise that it's an instrumental.

"God, it's a bit shit, isn't it?"

L nods sadly. "Well, she is of that generation, I suppose."

"I'm losing respect for her," Jeevas says, turning it off.

"It makes me feel tired." Mihael admits.

"I know what you mean. Tired and depressed."

I take my jacket off, which seems to steal L's attention and he begins to question me.

"So, tell us more about this violinist who wants to sleep with you, Yagami."

"Met her at a bar," I sigh with boredom as I sit back down. "She gave me tickets and I thought that I'd share them around." Truthfully, all these bastards desperately need a bit of culture. I'm simply confronting my debt to society.

"How thoughtful of you," he mutters.

"Light needs a nice girlfriend for once. He keeps picking idiots." Sayu obviously hasn't connected Jeevas with Misa and it's clear that she hasn't read the papers, she's just gone on what people have told her.

"Misa wasn't an idiot exactly," I say quietly.

"Yes she was. You just felt sorry for her."

"Yagami, you shouldn't sell yourself short by seeing idiots," L advises me. "It's very wasteful."

Mikami rubs his nose with the palm of his hand in irritation. "I keep telling him that he would make an excellent wife for someone. If I was that way inclined, Yagami, Shiori would be out the door and I'd move you into my house to sew buttons on all my coats." This makes me laugh, which seems to surprise everyone.

"What's all this about buttons?" L asks.

"Private joke," Mikami says, smiling over the rim of his wine glass at me.

"Let's play Find Yagami a Wife!" Jeevas shouts. His hair is sticking to his forehead and looks like someone who has overdosed twice but refuses to die out of sheer boneheadedness.

"Let's not," I answer, but Sayu is equally excited by the prospect, although she has good intentions, unlike Jeevas.

"No, I like that game. Let me find you someone, Light. Hey, Touta, what about Megumi? What do you think?"

"Megumi? Oh, I don't know. Doesn't she have a bat sanctuary?"

"Light likes bats!"

"I'm not being set up with one of your friends, Sayu," I state firmly. "And definitely not ones with bats. Forget it. I'm not that desperate that I need to be set up by my sister."

"Ohhhh..."

"Well," L says, standing suddenly. "Mihael tells me that Watari has emerged so I must get briefed before The Lady turns up."

"Bring him here!" Mikami demands.

"No. I don't think so, thank you. Watari doesn't strike me as the kind of person who would want to play Fuck, Marry, Avoid and Find Yagami a Wife. Good luck with the violinist, Yagami."

"Call me when you want to use my record player," I say, like it's Polari slang for something else. Which it is.

"Ooooh, what an offer. Goodnight."

We watch him walk towards Watari, who's grasping the crotch of his trousers with a painful expression on his face. Even L's back looks sympathetic as he guides him back to their table.

* * *

The violinist wasn't anywhere near as wonderful and irresistible as she thought she was. Immediately after the concert, we all pissed off back to our respective homes. When I got back to mine, L was waiting outside my apartment door, propping up the wall. I thought that he might drop by, but I didn't expect him to wait. I'm not sure why.

"I thought that you were supposed to be doing things to a violinist right now?" he mutters, not even looking up from the floor as I approach silently. I take out my key to open the door as he continues. "She was terrible. She played 'Winter' far too quickly and stridently. Completely emotionless. It's one thing being able to play an instrument, but it's more than just notes on a page. Definitely not girlfriend material if she can't actually follow the conductor. We didn't even stay for the end; The Lady thought that her dress was too revealing for playing the violin."

"You're lucky that I didn't bring anyone back. What would they think if they saw you standing outside my apartment like a stray dog?"

"That I'm stalking you, probably."

"Aren't you?" I ask. I'm not interested really. It's fairly obvious. He follows me inside.

"No," he states, throwing himself on the sofa while I switch on some wall lamps. "Why would I do that? You're very accessible." That's true. Dimmer switch. Good.

"Hmmm... How did it go with The Lady?" I'd tried to spot the box that they were in at the concert. I think that it was the one closest to the stage since it was shrouded in darkness even before the orchestra started screeching.

"Very well, actually. And you'll be pleased to know that I put a good word in for you."

"Really? What did you say?"

"That you were very promising and that I was impressed by what you've done in the Transport Department. I neglected to say that I sleep with you occasionally and that I'm impressed by you in that department too."

"Well, I suppose that I should thank you."

"Yes. You should," he agrees. I realise that we're just staring at each other in silence for too long, and it's not pleasant, so I turn quickly to go into the kitchen, taking off my tie as I go.

"Whisky?" I call over, and make some drinks in the ensuing, quite awkward dead air. Eventually I bring in two glasses, put them on coasters on my Noguchi coffee table, and take a seat opposite him. I think that investing in these chairs was a very wise decision. They just fill you with a sense of excellence.

L is almost bent over, resting his forearms on his knees and he gazes into the centre of his world, otherwise known as the tumbler of whisky I gave him. I wonder if he's using it like a crystal ball. These tumblers were very well bought as well, I think, as I look at the one I'm holding. Most of the shower in the House hire people to style their lives for them. I'm just naturally gifted. It doesn't seem fair that I should be so good at so many things when others are struggling at being good at simply existing, but they should just try harder.

"Light?" he asks, breaking my concentration. He's still looking at the glass. Maybe I should give it to him? "I don't care, obviously, but out of interest, are you seeing anyone else? Or have you? Over the last few months, I mean."

"I don't really have time, L," I say with a snort of amusement. "You take up too much of my time as it is." I think that I might have a bath. I bought some Dead Sea salt crystals which I had imported and -

"It's just... no, it doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't," I agree. "Let's put on that record The Lady gave you." I reach forwards for his briefcase.

"The violinist was a woman," he says suddenly. I pause mid-stretch and then fall back into the chair.

"You noticed that? Well done."

"You know what I'm thinking."

"Oh!" I exclaim with the joy of understanding. "You're wondering why I didn't take her up on her offer for the sake of variation? Well, ordinarily I might have, despite her desperation, which was a bit disgusting, really. I don't know. Why do you think I didn't?"

"I wouldn't be asking you if I had the faintest idea, would I? I don't know about these things, but she had a very low cut dress on. I mean, they were basically out there and swinging free, so I presume that that means she'd be reasonably attractive to people who like that sort of thing."

"I'll tell you what you think but are too worried about offending me to say. You think that I'm a morally deficient, money grabbing idiot who'll fuck anything, so why didn't I? Well, as it happens, I'm actually quite discerning. I have my reasons for everything I do. I have to, or I'd be like Jeevas and all the rest of them."

"Hang on a minute, I'm confused. You say that you're discerning, but having seen Misa being interviewed, I can't understand what you saw in her."

"No, I can't either," I admit.

"There must have been some reason?"

"Erm... well, she was pretty. And she was slightly famous at the time. Kind of sweet in an annoying way at first, and clever enough to know that she wasn't clever enough for me so she should just let me do what I wanted. And, yes, I know that sounds bad, but after she fucked Jeevas and fucked my door up too, I'm not her greatest champion."

"But you never loved her. I don't think that you even liked her, you cast her off so easily and you're all friendly with Jeevas. You broke up with her in the morning and you were more than willing to bend over for me by one o'clock the same day. "

"That does sound bad too when you say it like that. I don't know. I was overcome by desire for you, L. What do you want me to say? I'm a man in my twenties and I think it's called sewing wild oats. I'm not going to pass up on things."

"But you did. The violinist."

"Ah, but I have you, don't I?" I smile viciously. I'm sure I can turn this around but L's face says no.

"What's so special about me? I didn't tell you that I was going to turn up here. I wouldn't have minded if you'd gone off with her. You wouldn't even had to tell me."

"For someone who doesn't mind, you're talking about it a hell of a lot. Is it just because she was a woman? Also, I need to point out here that she was the one who was interested, not me."

"The woman thing? Maybe. But you know, I'm a man of the world. I can cope if you like both."

"It's not a case of liking," I mumble.

"What is it then?" he asks. For God's sake. I don't like anyone, really.

"L, I need a wife at some point. It's irritating, but it's a fact. You know that."

"Oh, for politics."

"Of course, for politics. It's all gods and goddesses, isn't it? Not gods and gods."

"You could change it."

"Change people's opinions? Only to a certain extent. I'd have to kill them."

"Even if you don't get in power, you'd get First Secretary, easily. Think what that impression that would make. You'd make it possible for someone in the future."

"I'm not in this on some crusade against bigotry for someone else to take the glory when I'm dead."

"No, you're in it for you," he says. "I know that. But sometimes I think that you might actually -"

"I can make a real difference as Prime Minister, but _only_ as Prime Minister," I interrupt. I have to cut this the fuck down and remind him of reality. "I wouldn't be under anyone's thumb. If you want to do it then go ahead. You could be a politician. It's not like you're under-qualified."

He laughs bitterly. It makes me cross my legs.

"Are your reasons for doing things always so professionally motivated?" he asks.

"Professionally," I repeat and drink my whisky. It doesn't burn. "Define 'professional' for me in this context."

"For your own gain."

"Ah, you mean generally? Well, yes. Isn't it the same for everyone? Don't we all only do things for ourselves? Even apparently selfless people have their reasons. Places in heaven, to be better thought of, to be able to consider themselves a kind person, so they can ease a guilt complex about watching people starving on a widescreen HD plasma TV..." I could go on, but I have to stop to drink my Nikka Yoichi twenty year old single malt.

"I'm not disputing that," he says, shaking his head with dismissal. "But I'm not asking about everyone, I'm asking you."

"I find it hilarious that you think I'm any different. Do you, really?"

"Yes. I know you are." And he's quite beautiful with truth sometimes. I don't think that I can look at him anymore in case I start to hate him.

"Let's put on this fucking record, eh? Let's blast out some 'Man of Mystery'," I say suddenly, jumping up to retrieve the record from his case and run over to the stereo. The room fills with some twangy cowboy stupidity as I stand over the record player staring intently at the spinning black disc like it's my mind that's making it play. My neighbours must think that I've gone insane. Like all these old songs, it's repetitive. The fact that's it's short is the only thing that stops me from grabbing a knife and stabbing myself repeatedly in the ears. The song finishes and after a few seconds of the delicate scratching from the record, I can't help but say, "God. That really _was_ shit, wasn't it?"

"It's not the best thing I've ever heard," L says from the sofa.

"At one point I thought it was going to do something but it just kept on doing the same thing over and over again. Let's put it on again. I can't actually get over how shit it is." I want to try and visualise The Lady this time, dancing to this in an empty room with her pearl necklaces swinging.

"Please don't. I think that I might kill myself if you do," he begs and sinks further down. His head is nearly between his knees.

"Yeah. I suppose once was enough. Do you want another drink? If not, I might go to bed."

"Just like that," L sighs again and takes a gulp of whisky.

"Well, I thought that you'd go with me."

"Yes, you're so dense that you would expect that. I _was_ talking to you, but by all means play some records and go to bed. I'll see myself out."

"Look, I don't want to sleep with the violinist, ok? Random men, women, dogs, goats, whatever. Not going there right now. What's wrong with you tonight? You're like Misa with all this introspection into everything I say. I don't understand you. You say you don't care and suggest that I'm stupid for _not _banging the violinist, but then you're like this with all the mopey 'you could change the world' gay icon shit. Seriously, I'm getting whiplash from all the conflicting messages you're giving me."

"I know. I'm sorry, it's just... I don't know. You're in my head a lot." He grabs a fistful of his hair like it's tied to something that he can yank out of his brain if he pulled hard enough. I tiredly walk back and sit down opposite him again.

Now, while I don't share these fluffy feelings, I don't want him to feel humiliated and alone. It wouldn't help me in the long run. I blame all this on his taking a role as an aid to The Lady. I haven't benefited from that so far. Things were uncomplicated before. Now he's moved into the same office as me, more or less. Maybe I shouldn't have invited him to my apartment in the first place. Yes, distance is what is needed here.

"You're in mine a fair bit of the time too," I say consolingly.

"I doubt that. It's all campaigns and plans up there."

"Not as much as you'd think actually. I plan in advance."

"A game then. Everything's a game to you."

"You're not a game to me, L," I admit, and he looks up at me for the first time in ten minutes. He has to see me in order to judge whether I'm lying or not and his eyes wash all over me.

I didn't mean for it to sound the way it did; all soft and tender and like it was the truth. It just came out that way because I'm tired of this conversation and L not being like himself. I make myself sick sometimes, I really do. No, he's not a game; he's my ally, isn't he? He knows that. Still, I don't like people around me to feel bad on my account, even though it's not my fault, it's theirs. It's so boring how predictable people are. No one can make you feel a certain way, you're the only one who's responsible. People are so willing to blame others for their own problems. Pathetic.

But he's still staring at me. Just when I'm about to say something else and backtrack a little bit, because I really think that I should clarify, he interrupts me.

"This table is in the fucking way," he says aggressively, and suddenly knocks it over to get to me. I love it when he's like this, he's like no one else. Like I'd let anyone else do this to me and my poor Noguchi coffee table. Only the very, very best for me. It never expected to be assaulted like that, it's a classic, but then it's all for a good cause. I can always replace it.

L grabs a fistful of my hair and presses me into the chair to steal all the air from me. I let him. Because it doesn't really matter what he does.

* * *

And so I experience a few days of heady wonder where everything is joy and nice weather and can I hold the door open for you it would be my absolute pleasure I have lived only to see this moment and I win every tennis match but L doesn't seem to mind and find that I'm naturally talented at golf which doesn't really surprise me and beat Jeevas and Mikami in my first ever game I'm _so _good in fact that I buy a set of golf clubs though I'm sorry but I'm never going to wear those argyle sweaters and then I meet Takada and Watari on the golf course on Sunday to find that they actually know my name which is excellent but I don't know why they wear pastel pink and yellow it makes them look like deformed overgrown babies of course I'd love to play a game with you but I warn you I'm not very good at it I'm just a beginner I don't even know what my handicap is offhand but we should have drinks sometime I'll put it on my tab Yes L I'm actually maybe possibly and for the first time in my life but there's something missing and I must find it I can't lose it just lie down or push me against a wall and shut your mouth just stop talking I have things to do and you make me feel of course I don't mind I'm very good at this it's no problem I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to would I you know me better than that No you're not a game to me

But for now we're having breakfast before work in some themed caf_é _which thinks it's in Paris. I'm pleased that I wore the right suit today. It's a sunny day, unusual for this time of year, and is perfect for a linen and wool mix when paired with an appropriate coat and scarf. I'd like to think that I look like I was painted into this setting. It's a wonderful photo opportunity but the press are never there when you need them. L would have had to step to one side while I posed with a croissant. On behalf of the government and my country, I thoroughly approve of this caf_é_.

L is reading the morning papers and has a stack of them in front of him. I hate to read over breakfast, although I suppose that I will have to start soon. You should fully concentrate on eating when you _are _eating. You should start with a glass of water first as that prevents you from gorging or feeling hungry later in the morning. You should avoid too much acidic juices as it disrupts the natural pH of your stomach and can cause tooth decay unless you carry a travel toothbrush with you at all times. If you concentrate on what you're doing, you can achieve anything. And at breakfast, which is the most important meal of the day, fully concentrating on what you're doing allows your brain enough time to fully _register _what you're doing. L doesn't do this, and the distraction is unwanted to me. I feel that I should tell him all these things. It could have a positive effect on his life.

"Anything interesting?" I ask.

"Nope," he answers, looking up at me briefly. "Same old."

"Then you should eat your breakfast."

"I am," he says, picking up his coffee cup as he continues to read. I look at the broadsheet on the top of the pile, which is neatly folded. The text is small, stark, and blocky on the peach coloured paper it's printed on. Suddenly I don't see characters, I see the spaces between them, and it forms images, like seeing animals and things in clouds. I blink, keeping my eyes shut for a moment, and when I open them again, it was like it never happened at all. I smile but it feels tight on my face.

"What are you doing today?"

"The firm need me to come in to discuss a settlement agreement," he groans. "Then back to have a meeting later with Takada maybe, but not much besides that. Something may turn up. It normally does. What about you?"

"I'll have to check my diary." Which I won't do until after breakfast and reading the papers. I have my routine and he's ruining it. I know what I'm doing today but I have to check my diary first. He doesn't comment, which annoys me, so I make something up on the spot. "Might go to the gym before I head into the office."

"Don't. We could play tennis later. Two o'clock?"

"Can't. I'm making a speech in the House today."

"I thought you said that you had to check your diary?" he says, smiling a few seconds afterwards to mask his suspicion. "You didn't tell me that you had a speech today."

"I was distracted," I smile back at him. It's all about the smiling today. "It's nothing. One of my constituents recently lost a court case for right to die. I thought that I'd comment on it and lend my support." He glances at me, just big black eyes sitting behind the paper he's holding. Sometimes he reminds me of when I hear a song at a particular moment, maybe in the early morning when I'm lying in bed with my headphones on, and the sunlight is fighting through my window. It's just some little coda I ignore all the rest of the time, but in that moment it feels like it was written just for me.

"I know the case," he says, putting down the paper to picks up another, pausing for a moment while he scans the front page. After apparently losing interest in such a cheap, nasty gossip rag, he puts it face down on the table as an example to the others. "My firm were counsel to the State."

"You were in opposition?"

"Not me, personally, but I've sat in on some of those cases before. It could be implemented one day, the right case just has to come forward. Don't look at me like that, Light. Both sides require advice to put forward a coherent case. It's just my job."

"So your opinions don't come into it? You'll argue for whoever pays you."

"Yes," he says bluntly, his eyes flicker up to see what effect his apparent mercenary nature has on me. "I have no personal opinions in court and I make no apologies for it. I'm only here to put forward the best case I can for justice's sake. If I happen to be representing the wrong side and I win, then I've still won. If you're upset about this particular case, then I'm sorry, but High Courts are there to adapt and develop common law in order to keep up with the requirements of justice in a changing society. Major changes involving matters of social policy of that nature are for the government, and you lot are far too frightened of approving of something so controversial at the moment. I suppose that's your business, or it will be in a few years. Regardless, euthanasia is a risky topic to associate yourself with. Are you sure you should?"

"There's a petition with over seven hundred thousand signatures, so I'm going to present it to the House. If it has that kind of public support, I should be seen to take notice of it. I'll be non-committal, don't worry. I'm just representing my public."

"_Your public_?" he repeats and then clears his throat. "But at this level, it's not your area, is it? So you're going to the gym before euthanasia and all before midday. By that time I'll probably just be getting around to having my morning shower." He picks up another paper and opens it wide like wings.

I hold my croissant in mid-air and my mouth hangs open for a second. "You're taking the day off now?" I ask.

"Yes, I've just decided."

"Oh. Maybe we could meet up later then?"

"I don't know. We'll have to see how the day pans out. Keep your diary fairly free," he tells me as he continues to read. Papers should never take precedence over me. I have never played second fiddle to a newspaper at breakfast so this infuriates me, but for some reason I can't bring myself to say a damn thing about it. I pour some of my coffee down my throat to ease down the lump of pastry which feels like it's lodged in my chest.

I'm showing too much concern. What I say next must be deflected somehow, or else not say anything at all. My words point to interest but my actions point towards it lying with the flakes of chocolate on my empty plate. I press them into the pads of my fingers, like squashing flies, and place them on my tongue. "Are you alright? You seem a bit different today," I mutter, keeping my voice low.

"I'm fine, Light. Or at least I was until you drove a steam roller through my life," he says. Just like it's a fact told cheerfully but with a calm, straight face as he turns a page. The combination of words fighting against mannerisms makes me laugh.

"Ha! I didn't mean to," I reply.

"I didn't mean to let you," he admits with equal calm to his previous statement.

"Oh, are you serious? I thought you were joking. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I normally reflect on things at this time of the morning and you just happen to be here."

"So I can catch this show every day if I wanted to? Wow. I've never been compared to a steam roller before. I wonder what tomorrow will bring?" I feel lifted somehow. A heavy weight has been taken from my shoulders. "Maybe tennis this afternoon then when I've finished?" I suggest. "Call me if you're free. Oh shit, no. Sorry, I can't. I promised Mikami that we'd try the new squash court."

"Somehow I don't think that that's going to happen," he tells me. He puts down the barely read paper

"Why?"

"Because Mikami will have other things to worry about this afternoon."

"What do you mean?" I ask. He pushes the overturned paper towards me and turns it over for the big reveal. The headline was a fuzzy, long lens photo of Mikami inhaling coke off a table. I can't take my eyes from it. It's glorious. "L, tell me that you didn't do this."

"It's time for you to move to Education."

* * *

It's no surprise to anyone when Mikami is pushed out of office and hastily shuttled off to a rehab centre to avoid prosecution. I had to be careful not to be seen with him, but publicly stated that I admired his 'courage to confront his problems and that he should be given all of our support'.

I was on the panel on TV and did spectacularly well. My arguments were concise, considered, and realistic. I was also asked about Mikami, as this took place just after his resignation, and refused to comment, apart from to say that I did not condone drug use and that it is a social problem which must be tackled. Then I wrote an article for _The Japan Times _which did very well for me. The first line of the article was chosen as the headline, though I would have preferred something a little less sentimental to head the piece. As it happens, it spoke to the nation of personal loyalty, and spread across social networking sites like a fire.

"First and foremost, Teru Mikami is my friend."

This was followed with a few weeks of some selfless acts of campaigning masquerading as kindness, including visiting children's hospital wards and schools, being invited back to my old university to be shown around the new lecture theatre, 'secretly' donating some money my grandfather left me to a new cancer research facility, campaigning for and saving a library service which the local government was trying to shut down, saving a dog from being put down (Sayu and Touta have it but I walk it some mornings when the paparazzi are about), and opening a retirement home, which everyone else declined to do. An old woman took quite a shine to me and kept groping my arse as we had our photos taken. I was quite scared for a moment there.

All these things combined make me a permanent fixture in the papers as a force for good. I cheer people up over their cornflakes across the demographics. I'm not old enough to make me unappealing to the young, which is important. I might be the first politician for years, possibly ever, whose photo is lovingly scissored from the newspaper and stuck inside schoolgirls' lockers. They can't vote, but they have influence over their parents, and it's good to encourage the youth to have an interest in politics. I hardly have to say a word since my actions speak for themselves. I'm keeping my words in reserve.

I am a good man. There are not many of us about.

Did I win the seat for Education? Of course I did.

* * *

**Disclaimer like whoa!**

Must point out that I actually really like 'Man of Mystery' and it pained me to diss it, so don't hate me. I particularly love the cover version Muse used to do sometimes on tours.

And the punctuationless section just happened. I read a poem the other day called "Punctuation Less" and it must have just been in my head. I really like that section, but I feel like I should mention it because I'm sure some people will be all 'WOT IS THAT SHIZZLE IS YOUR KEYBOARD BROKEN?' It's not. My head is. Also a little bit worried that I may have stolen the idea unconsciously from **wordbombs**. There's something in the back of my mind saying that I have, but I can't find any emails or anything that mention it. So, until she gets back to me and I know what to do, let's just presume that I have stolen the idea like a boss. It's very WB-ish, only she'd do it much better. Truly, everyone should have a go because it's the best fun you can have with a keyboard, apart from have a cat sit on one in front of a picture of space while you play some weird electronica. Yes, I've done that. [EDIT: Ok, it seems that I did steal it from wordbombs. I'm going to wait until she has a chance to read it and tells me whether she approves before I do anything. Oh, angst!]

I'd just like to pimp out/draw your attention to _by night we go naked, by day we go blind _by **FreezeDryedGorgeous **because it's rather wonderful.

This is a weird request but I bought a doujinshi in London a year ago (wasn't expecting to find DN porn there, I have to admit, so I had to buy it) and plot of epic consisted of Light and L having sex in the helicopter during the Higuichi arrest scene. It was HILARIOUS. I don't normally bother with them, so that just shows how brilliant it was. Then I gave it my friend (it was loved by all who saw it), who then pissed off to Finland with it. I can't remember what it was called and my friend doesn't remember where he's put it. Needless to say that we both want it back in our lives. Does anyone know it?


	4. Stop Chasing Shadows, Just Enjoy It

**A/N **This will be the last update for a while. Everyone breathe a sigh of relief. This is bashed out so it probably needs some filler and rearranging at some point, but for now, boom. I'll leave you on a slightly fluffy note. I laughed way, way too much. Mostly at things that aren't supposed to be funny. L and Light go very _Cure_-like in this chapter, if anyone has had the dubious pleasure of reading that when it really kicked off with the fluff and angst. Thankfully a lot of the cause of that angst isn't present in this story, which is nice. Still, it made me all nostalgic with the fluff monster, and here I was thinking that my heart was a tar pit that dinosaurs would die in. That'll be pretty much it for wangst, I think. I blame chai tea.

Massive thank you for the reviews. I love them and you, I do. **elizabellalight**, thanks for the compliments. Quite an honour being considered to be in the same company as those amazing writers!

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Stop Chasing Shadows, Just Enjoy It**

* * *

I feel a little like a feral thing which someone has decided to put a collar on. I don't mind, it's just that it would appear to someone else that I'd prefer to be here than somewhere else. The last time I stayed in on a Friday night was two years ago and I had flu. Friday night is the best night to strike up possibly valuable contacts, but then, I don't really need to think about that so much anymore. Let the people on the bottom tier try and fight their way up. It's time for different tactics now.

L stands in front of me to hand me a plate, which I find a rather ridiculous thing for a lawyer to do, and I look around him so that my view of the television isn't obscured. He throws himself onto the sofa beside me and picks up _The Twelves Caesars_. Caligula has just made his horse a consul, apparently. L says that it's a Roman version of _The National Enquirer, _but I don't care about that_._ I'm watching a European quiz show on cable and getting quite jubilant. I'm competing against two university teams from 1997.

"Fuck off and put your teeth back in. What did you say? Fooowaaancissss Bacon? WRONG!"

The presenter of the show says, "I'm afraid that that's incorrect."

"Of course it's incorrect, Jeremy. Get out, you stupid bitch. Go on."

"Which Alfred Hitchcock film of 1951 features Farley Granger as tennis star Guy Haines, who finds himself involved in a murder plot?"

"Strangers fucking on a train," I say.

Insane old crone says, "Er... _Dial M for Murder_?"

"WRONG!"

Jeremy says, "The answer is _Strangers on a Train_."

"Minus five fucking points, you absolute moron. L, look, their team is in the minus figures now."

"Oh, so they are," L says without looking up from his book.

"And that's the end of general knowledge round," Jeremy tells us. "Your starter for ten points is on world politics."

"L! L! The world politics starter for ten!"

"Which Secretary of State resigned from Jimmy Carter's administration in 1980 over the failed attempt to rescue US hostages in Tehran?"

"Cyrus Vance," I say confidently. So confidently that I turn to L and brush his hair off his face, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's onto Claudius now.

"Henry Kissinger?" the idiot says.

"WHAT?!"

Jeremy sighs. "No, the answer is Cyrus Vance."

"Kill them, Jeremy," I say, sitting up with my pizza. "They don't deserve to live."

L does look up at this, glances at what I'm watching and mumbles, "Light, I don't think you should watch this anymore."

"But I am victorious. I have more points than the winning team at the moment."

Jeremy is off again. "Published in 1940, the novel _Darkness at Noon_, about a show trial in a Soviet-like regime, was originally written in German by which Hungarian-born author?

"Shit. I don't know that one."

"Arthur Koestler," L says, turning the television off with the remote.

"Wait! We didn't hear the answer!"

"I don't need to. Have you taken something?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're high as a kite."

"No, I'm giddy with success."

He squints as he looks at me, decides to believe my plea, and turns back to his book. "Eat your disgusting cheesy, bready, tomatoey thing, Light," he tells me. He's unusually quiet tonight and has been since he turned up. Unlike him, I'm in a wonderful mood as I've just had new carpets fitted throughout the apartment and my 'Gus I' print from the 'Human Bodies' series by Nadav Kander has turned up and is on the wall. Today is a good day.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

"Mmm... I was just thinking," he replies, turning another page.

"You go very serious when you're thinking. You should stop."

"I can't do that, unfortunately."

"I'll stop it for you!" I say, grabbing the book from his hands and throwing it on the table. This sofa sure has seen some action lately. I worry about the springs. Maybe we should relocate? "I hate this shirt of yours. It has to go!"

"What's wrong with it?" he asks, astounded. I'm equally astounded by his lack of enthusiasm, but thankfully he catches on. "God, what's wrong with _me_? I don't care about the shirt!" he says, practically trampolining onto me. Hur-fucking-rah. "You're right. Both our shirts have to go. And the trousers. They're awful."

"All the clothes! Bedroom!"

"Yes. No. Light, thank you, but no. Oh, alright then. Argh! No. No, that won't solve anything," he sighs, pushing himself away and back into a seated position. "I saw The Lady today."

"Does she normally have this effect on you?" I ask in my recumbent state.

"No. It's what was discussed. I didn't think much of it until I was in the car over here and it's been on my mind ever since. It's using up a lot of brain power which I think could be better employed with other things. "

I sit up. "Tell me about it."

"She's very concerned about the upheaval and deaths in the cabinet. I'm not sure what she expects me to do about it. I suggested that she send everyone to have a discreet health check and -"

"What was she wearing?" I can't help but interrupt. L looks at me, surprised.

"What? A blue suit, I think."

"Blue. So she's attempting to reassert herself because she's feeling insecure about her position. That's good. What kind of suit? Trousers, skirt, or a dress?"

"A skirt, maybe? I don't know! I'm sure it stopped just below her knees so it might have been pantaloons but I don't really take much notice of these things. She wasn't naked, that's all I know. What does it matter?"

"Chanel?"

"How should I know that?"

"You're useless. I'm trying to get a mental picture here because what she was wearing would have communicated something about her state of mind and... forget it. Carry on," I say, wiping my greasy hands on a napkin. I should have used his shirt instead. Horrible rag. Polyester mix.

"Well, that was it really. I'm trying to stem the press on the deaths but it's very difficult when they're dropping like flies and reshuffles are in the public interest. It's hard to hide dead bodies. I'm trying to bury them in the little notices rather than proper articles."

"Don't bother," I exhale and I lift his feet from the floor, rotate him, drop his legs onto my lap, and rub circular motions into his instep. Works for me most of the time if you get someone who knows what they're doing. "The government won't fall because politicians are dying," I continue. "The public love it and all the uncertainty. You know that they're actually taking bets on who will live and die? They don't care who's who and they expect nothing since most politicians are so ineffectual. We're just clones to the public. You shouldn't worry about it and neither should The Lady."

"The Lady wonders whether it could be a conspiracy," he says.

"But most of them are dying of heart attacks and if there was anything weird about it then it would show up on tests, wouldn't it? How can you make someone have a heart attack? That's stupid."

"That's what I said."

"Yes, so there you go. I don't know, you could look into it. It's a police thing though, isn't it? What about hospital records?"

"Not many of them had drug tests so it'd involve me having to dig people up, which would be unpleasant and will draw attention. Plus, most of them were cremated, of course, so I can't really do anything with them apart from have a mad half hour scattering them to the four winds."

"There's not much you can do then. Health screening of politicians is probably the best option, you're right. Boy done good. It won't change anything though. If they're going to die then they're going to die. Death is inevitable." I suddenly have the urge to kiss his instep because I like the hollow there. I wonder how he'd take that? I'm just going to go for it anyway, but then he coughs and swings his feet away from me.

"I want you to book yourself in for a full health check on Monday," he says. It makes me laugh.

"I didn't realise that I looked like I was going to keel over."

"All the same, I'll arrange for you to see my doctor."

"My doctor is probably the best in Japan. How dare you suggest that your doctor can usurp my doctor? I can't believe that you're actually worried about me. Like... wow. Fuck me gently with a two by four."

"I'm not worried about you," he mutters.

"INCORRECT!" I shout and collapse in a bit of a crumpled state. He moves away from me to the far end of the sofa.

"Shut up, this isn't a game show," he says. "What do you think, that I'm in love with you or something? I have a lot riding on you. I do a lot of riding on you too, but that's beside the point. I've put a lot of effort in to get you where you are now and I'm not losing for the sake of a health check and your ridiculous ego. Just do it. I'm telling you to as your advisor. Fucking politicians."

I throw myself back on the sofa and stare at the black screen like there's still something to watch. "Fine, fine, whatever," I grumble. L picks up his book again and shifts further away from me. This annoys me enough to say something I was going to leave until the day itself, or maybe not say at all. "L?"

"Yes, L is me," he huffs back.

"It's my birthday on Wednesday."

"It is?" he says, turning to face me.

"I wouldn't mention it, but I'm meeting with a few people for drinks and all that shit. Wasn't my idea. You can come along if you're not doing anything else. My parents will be there, so if you plan to antagonise my dad or something, then really, don't bother. I'd pay you to stay away. Anyway, I'm busy on Wednesday."

After a few seconds of awkward silence during which I think that he may have suddenly contracted some kind of disease and passed out, he speaks. "What is this?" he asks.

"I'm telling you what I'm doing on Wednesday and that you can turn up if you want. Or not. If you want. Whatever you want."

"Why are you asking me to your birthday party with your family?"

"It's not a birthday party! What am I, five? Forget it. It was just something to say because you've turned the TV off."

"It's abnormally serious for you. I think people might be suspicious if I turn up. For all intents and purposes I'm just your tennis partner and we're not supposed to like each other very much since I murdered you in the inquiry."

"Whoa, ok. I'm glad you're sitting down because this might take some time. Firstly, you didn't murder me in the inquiry. It took me all of five minutes to absolutely slaughter you and I wasn't even having one of my best days. Good try though, sport. Secondly, loads of people are going, most of which I hardly know. It's practically a free for all and there'll be cake. You like cake more than anyone I've ever met, so you might as well eat it. And no one is going to think that we're fucking a month of Sundays, they'll think that you're a useful contact and that you're doing one of your infamous 'I was just passing by' jobs. We've been 'playing tennis' for a while now; nearly a year, so it wouldn't be inconceivable that you'd drop by. Even my dentist is coming and I don't think he's worried that people might expect him to have me over a bar stool. But, if you're worried, I'm really not bothered if you come or not. Seriously, don't put yourself out." Overall, he looks shocked and I really don't know why. I think that's what's so annoying about it. "Do you want a drink?" I ask, standing up to stride to the drinks cabinet.

"No ice," he calls over. "Ok, Light. I'll see if I can make it."

"Great, whatever. We could just meet here afterwards instead. I don't know what time I'll be back though. It doesn't matter." I'm giving him some _bastard_ ice in his whisky anyway. He doesn't say anything for a minute or so but he must hear me putting half of Antarctica into his glass.

"Oh God, I suppose that I'll have to get you a present now," he moans. "Why do people have to have birthdays? It's so inconsiderate. Like I haven't got enough to worry about anyway. But I can't just come in, take your cake, and run. That would look strange. Would you like a canary?"

"Here, drink this and shut up. I'm putting a film on so you can read about mad Emperors somewhere else if you want." I sit down again and thumb through the tv guide while I feel his eyes boring a hole in the side of my face. Fuck the fuck off.

"You're annoyed with me," he says.

"No I'm not. Why would you think that?"

"Because I questioned you."

I exhale. This is oh so familiar. He's just a different sex and isn't blond. "You didn't have to point out that we're storming the cotton gin and make it sound like being in the same room as me is the scandal of the century. Anyone else would just say, 'Yes, Light, thank you, Light, I'll look forward to it. Where and what time, do you like socks, and is there a dress code?' but you -"

"Where is it?" he asks.

"The New York Bar."

"Nice."

"I know that, don't try to distract me. So yeah, anyone else would say_ that_ and be generally pleasant and polite, but with you it opens a whole court case. You look like that woman. Shit. I can't remember her name because she's so incredibly tedious. She's in the Attorney General's Office. I only mentioned it to her since we were in a lift together and I didn't have anyone from the AGO on the guest list at that point. She looked like I'd asked her to take her clothes off and brace herself. God's sake. Can't people see that I'm using this thing as an opportunity to ingratiate myself?"

"You don't really have to ingratiate yourself with me," he points out and lazily strokes the back of my neck. "I think you're well and truly ingratiated. You know what I think of you."

I mull over his words as the tone seems to slow down and intensify into something horrible. A contented smugness fully expecting contented smugness in return, or for me to loll all over him like some grateful dead fish. His fingers burn against my skin with pride and possession and... That's it, this has to rewind. I'm so pleased for him if he finds this as funny as he appears to. I like to catch things early and you, my darling bastard, desperately need to be caught. You have to know your place. This is a relay race. You might have some part to play in it, but it's me who's going to cross the line and I'm not taking you with me. Don't see things that aren't there. Don't imagine yourself to be worthy. You're a sleepwalker, just like the rest of them. I'm not yours.

"We should stop this."

I shake off his hand. He doesn't do what I expect him to, which is to go all wide-eyed and scream at my dismissal, but then I'm so used to Misa that it's a shock to find that not everyone reacts the same way. Instead, he leans back like he's in Jamaica.

"Elaborate," he says.

"I'm not sure what you think me asking you to come for a drink signifies."

"Nothing," he says with a shrug. "I'm just surprised, that's all. I thought that you'd rather avoid cause for talk, and if I turn up then people might talk. The last thing you need at this point is a smear campaign and Jeevas already suspects something."

"Jeevas?"

"He asked Mihael if we really are just playing tennis. They're quite pally, but Mihael's loyalty is mine."

"Wait, Mihael knows?" I ask. I'm angry but you wouldn't really know it. In contrast, his normally emotionless face is now twisting with anger, so I suppose we're in for a shouting match after all.

"You really do think that everyone is stupid, don't you? That we're all just drones around your fucking beehive. Yes, Mihael knows. He wouldn't have told me about Jeevas otherwise."

"Fantastic. And you didn't think that I should know about all this? God, L!"

"You're overreacting. I gave him a pay rise for his discretion, it's perfectly alright. And please close your mouth, Light. It's very difficult to be angry with you when you look like a startled sex doll. I didn't tell you because it was unimportant. Mihael is trustworthy and Jeevas is a wanksplash who no one takes any notice of anyway. He's insanely jealous of you, which helps. People would probably think it was wishful thinking if he did voice his concerns."

"It changes nothing in any case. I still think that we should stop."

He reaches for his whisky with a sigh. "Again, you're overreacting. Don't take your timidity out on me."

"You think that I'm timid? Are you kidding me? Look, I just preferred things when they were simple and I think you're getting a bit confused. The premise of this set up was based upon you advising me, I tell you what's going on in the House, we fuck around occasionally, and we both do well out of it. Don't think that I don't know that you're getting paid for these stories you're selling. The point is, you didn't give a shit about me, I didn't give a shit about you. Maybe we should revert back to that."

"Oh."

"What do you think? Yeah? Good."

"If you want," he said, staring into the vortex as he swirled his ice and whiskey around in the glass. "I'm sorry that I gave you that impression."

"Great. I'm going to do a line now. And before you say anything, I never do that, no, but I am now because I'm bored shitless, thank you very much. I'm just going to Jeevas' place and I might kill him while I'm there."

He stands up immediately. "Don't. I'll go."

"You don't have to," I say, running to the door to get my coat and shoes. "Wait there. I'll be back in half an hour and then we'll get some trade on. Ok?"

"If you take cocaine now, it'll probably show up on your blood tests on Monday."

"Then I'll take my tests on Tuesday." I was putting my coat on. I was already outside in my mind.

* * *

Here I am in the New York Bar on my birthday. The skyline looks like a scene from a sci-fi film, all cyan and red lights from tower blocks and golden white from the streets below. It's raining quite heavily but from this height it looks like the thinnest veil of opaqueness. It's hangover vision.

I haven't seen L since Friday, which may have some future impact on my climb, but I'm sure I can catch up. Or I can manage without him. I may have overreacted but there's a very good reason for that. The whole thing has been worrying me for a while and he deserves more than a gentle easing out. Neither of us can afford to develop lovely little feelings, especially me. I just had to remind him of who I am, and I don't think that he could like that person. Fuck them, yes. Use them, work with them, gain from them, but not like them.

He could be dead for all I know.

My parents turn up with Sayu, Touta, and a various assortment of relatives who I don't particularly know or like, and take advantage of me and my tab. I wasn't supposed to pay, Mikami organised this whole thing and said he'd foot the bill, but he hasn't arrived or set one up. Then the politicians arrive.

All in all, I think that it's a success as no one has started singing yet.

Mikami slams into my back because he's wearing shoes with no grip and he can't brake, he can only walk into things. "Hey, Yagami. Sorry I'm late." He shoves a gift into my chest quickly so he can take his coat off, which is soaked. Nothing seems breakable so I throw the shop-wrapped parcel on the table with the others. He has red rings of soreness around his eyes. Kicking a habit and being unemployed is hard. He's got guts to be here though, I'll say that for him. Guts, or a lack of shame.

"It's ok, glad you could make it," I say. "Everything ok?"

"Traffic," he explains vaguely. I see now that that's not the only reason. He's jittery as a newborn fly.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Drink. Yeah, yeah. I'll get one, thanks. Who's that with Matsuda?"

"My sister, Sayu. Matsuda's wife." I prod for signs of life, "You met her at the concert?"

"Oh, yeah. What does she see in him? She could do much better. Anyway, Happy Birthday," he says in a dull tone and races to the bar.

"Thanks," I say to the space where he was. I notice Jeevas, and he's brought Naomi. Naomi, you idiot. If Penber could see you now, he'd die all over again.

"Hey, you old bastard, come here!" Jeevas says, clawing me into a brief, hate-filled bear hug. Just because it's my birthday he feels like he should be my best friend. If he _was _a bear, I would shoot him.

"Happy Birthday, Light," Naomi says quietly, smiles, and hands me a gift which looks exactly the same as Mikami's. At some point I'll be able to move from this spot if only people would stop turning up an hour late.

"Thanks, Naomi."

"Open bar! Brilliant!" Jeevas takes Naomi's arm roughly and takes her away like a tug with a cruise liner which has run out of fuel. I decide that that's it for welcoming fuckfaces to my party, and go back to check on my parents, Touta, and Sayu, who are the only ones sitting at a table far away from everyone else. They've all got food. It's like they just happen to be in the same room as a party of suits who are all standing around clutching drinks.

"Does anyone need another drink?" I ask. Shouldn't people be getting me drinks? I feel like a bartender on commission. My father stands up and pulls back an empty chair with a calming smile.

"No, Light. Sit down," he says.

All the anxiety is mine, if only I could feel it. Sayu starts chirping at me while she's trying to figure out how to get the meat out of a lobster claw and is currently stirring it with a chopstick, and my mother starts talking about how nice the view is. This whole experience makes me reach for the bottle of wine and try to detach myself from this place as the cool liquid rushes down my throat. I am not here. This isn't happening.

"You have so many friends, Light!" Sayu tells me.

"Yeah, great party," Touta says. Of course he'd say that.

"Hello, Light. Happy Birthday." I turn and L is standing next to me, looking down from a great height, so I begin to stand also. "Don't get up," he says and pushes me back down again by my shoulder, "I was just dropping by to give you this." He holds out a parcel and I stare at it for a moment longer than I should before I take it. L's brought Mihael along, who's loitering awkwardly behind, looking towards the tower of similarly shaped and wrapped gifts on the centre table. Oh, yes. Yes, please bring your irritating, nosey little shit of an employee along as your plus one to my party. "Yagami-san, I'm not sure if you remember me?" L asks, reaching across in front of me to shake my father's hand, who chews and wipes his hands hastily on a napkin before taking it.

"I remember you. I didn't know that you knew Light."

"Slightly," he replies. "We play tennis sometimes." He bows generally to my mother, Sayu, and Touta, who all dip their heads mid-chew like cows eating grass. Someone has executed the pianist and put on some rubbish about an electric chapel, which makes both Touta and Sayu smile at each other and bounce in their chairs. The only good to come from this is that some of my older relatives are leaving.

"Take my seat, L. I'll get you and Mihael a drink," I say, for it's already been established that that is my role tonight. Mihael can sit on the floor for all I care.

"Very kind of you, but we're not staying. Nice to meet you all. Enjoy the party."

"Why can't you wear a suit like that?" Sayu asks Touta, who looks bemused and turns around to see the offending item leave. He's leaving. He's actually leaving.

"I won't be a minute," I say, and walk after L. He's been held up by someone from the Treasury, thank God. I reach Mihael first, who remains a good few feet away from his employer. "Mihael, yeah? Hi. Why don't you get yourself a drink? It's a free bar."

"Thanks but I..." he looks back towards L, who seems engrossed in conversation, and then longingly back at the bar. "Ok," he says and runs off like he's been let out of jail, which allows me to approach L.

"Yagami! Excellent party. Excellent," the man from the Treasury tells me. He has a napkin tucked into his collar as he stuffs sushi into his mouth. I can't remember his name.

"Good that you could make it. Lawliet, can I have a word?"

"I really have to go actually. Call my office tomorrow maybe? Oh..." he stops as he realises that Mihael has had the gall to leave his side and is now laughing with Jeevas at the bar.

"I won't keep you long. Excuse me," I say to Mr Treasury as I pull L off to one side by his elbow. I feel like everyone is watching me, even though they're probably not. I'm the least important person in the room at the moment because it's my party, it's everyone for themselves. In a slightly risky move, I steer L towards the toilets. He realises and slows down, but as we're nearly there anyway and are, for the most part, hidden from view by a pillar and the corner of the bar, I drop my hand and grasp his, dragging him into what appears to be a baby's changing room. I lock the door.

"Where have you been?" I demand. I didn't realise that I was so pissed off.

"Why have you locked us inside a baby's changing room?"

"You didn't answer my calls."

He's unrepentant when this is clearly all his fault. "No," he says. I give him several seconds to follow it up, but he doesn't.

"And? Explanation, please?"

"I thought that we were going back to the old days of not giving a shit about each other? I reverted to it quite easily. I didn't give a shit about you and your phone calls." God, temperamental shitehawk.

"I said that we should cool it off a bit, not ignore each other."

"No, you said that we should go back to not giving a shit. That's exactly what you said, I remember it perfectly. You said something about 'storming the cotton gin' and how you're only ever ingratiating yourself with people, how we only play tennis, and how it didn't matter if I turned up here or not. Then you went out to take drugs."

"I didn't. I..."

"You really did. I know, it sounds bad and that's because it was, but that's what I've had to put up with. Did I misinterpret it at all?"

"I didn't go to Jeevas'. I waited in the lobby until you left."

He exhales heavily and rubs his forehead while I stare at the floor. No, I didn't go to Jeevas'. Why would I go there? I just sat in the guest lobby and waited for L to leave, which he did, ten minutes after I had. I saw his black coat sweep past reception from where I was sitting, then I went back upstairs and read the book that he had left behind.

"Why did you do that?" he asks.

"I couldn't talk to you anymore, I guess. I don't know. I'd had too much to drink and you were getting too serious."

"You weren't drunk or high or out of your tree in any way," he says firmly. I sigh, exasperated, and I try to find it funny but his big eyes just make it completely pointless trying.

"It was just part of my brilliant personality then."

"You know what I think, Light? I think that you're right, it was getting a bit too serious for you. It's nothing to do with me or what I said, it's you. It's always you. And you didn't like it, so you put on a little show for me. That's what I think."

"Well, you're wrong."

My words sound like they're fighting through a laugh which isn't entirely appropriate. He cocks his head slightly to one side and sets his jaw in anger. "Maybe you _are _just a twat then," he says.

"Maybe I am."

"You know that I don't believe that. For some reason, you want me to think that you are."

"No, if you don't like some of the things I say and do, you can't excuse it with, 'Oh, he's just putting on a show for me because he's deranged.' I'm not deranged, that's just who I am. I'm the brightest, most promising young politician in Japan. I have no reason to make myself out to be something I'm not."

"Unless things get too serious for you. You want me to back off."

"Yes. No. I-"

"Pull your head from out of your arse and make up your fucking mind, Light. I haven't got the time or patience for messing around. I'm too old for this shit and frankly, so are you. You're not all that special, you're just like me, that's all." Well, that's insulting. I've had enough now. Why did I do this?

"Ok, that's fine. I know where I stand and that's all I needed to know." I turn to unlock the door but he moves around to stand in front of it and goes all angry prosecution on me.

"You dragged me in here for a reason and I want to know what it is."

"Er... a happy birthday blow job?"

"Give yourself one," he says, like he's disgusted by the idea. "I didn't know that there was a limit between us or that it's something that should be capped before it gets too 'serious', whatever that is. See, to me, you just flipped. It wasn't because of anything in particular, you just decided that you had to, and I think that points to something in your head rather than something that I did to offend you."

"I didn't see it happen," I say softly. I didn't give myself time to consider it first and feel stupid as soon as I say it. Going by his expression, he doesn't understand what I mean. I almost hoped that he would.

"See what happen?" he asks.

"Nothing."

"Because you've capped it. Put a cork right in that fucker, right? No more of that."

"You've lost me. Am I a bottle of wine or a mine shaft or something?"

"I'm saying that you're emotionally stunted and a scared little boy. I know, because I'm the same. The difference is that I can accept who I am and you can't. Tell me what you think of me."

"God, L, I... I don't know. You look _really _nice in that suit." I'm more than a little bit tired of him now, and he is with me because he sighs, turns his head up to the ceiling, and closes his eyes. When he drops his head back down after a few seconds, it's pretty bad. I can tell that there's a line here and I'm dancing on it. He'd drop me and I won't allow it to happen, so I tag on a teaser in a desperate attempt at damage limitation. What it ends up sounding like is the equivalent of holding up a frying pan to protect yourself from a hail of bullets. "I like you. You're my friend."

"Yes, I'm your friend and I'm the only one you've got. What else?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"No, it isn't. Listen, why don't you have a think about it, and call me when you know. Get pissed and put it in an email. I don't care what you're like all the rest of the time. You can be as big a bastard as you want and I'll help you _do _whatever you want as long as I know what's underneath it. Don't bother me until you've got a really, _really_ good answer, because I'm struggling to find a fuck to give at the moment. So yeah, do that. Happy Birthday." He turns around to open the door.

"Wait." I say, taking his hand.

"Light, we're going to suffocate in here if we stay any longer," he says to the door.

"You don't want to be my friend. You want to be my forever."

I say it like I've just realised it. I have just realised it. He turns back to face me, so I must have said something right. I don't know if what I've said is true and he doesn't seem to know either. For a minute, all there is is him and a fucking orchestra in my head with surround sound. But he ruins the whole thing.

"Forever? Light, are you drunk?"

Then there's a knock behind him and my eyes flicker away from his to look at the door with someone who's not welcome on the other side of it.

"Uh, excuse me?" a woman's voice asks. "Is anyone in there? I need to change my baby."

L sighs and turns his head slightly to the side. "I'm afraid that you're stuck with it, madam. You can't swap it for another one. Kindly piss off."

"So?" I ask. "Do you?" And he looks at our feet instead.

"Forever is a very long time. Even I can't plan that far in advance."

"You know what I mean. I won't laugh, I promise. I'm taking this very seriously."

"Excuse me? Is this room in use?" A man's voice this time behind the door. The frustration of this whole thing forces me to rub the back of my neck and take a few slow steps around the tiny room.

L shouts at the door with a clipped annoyance. "We're changing our baby. It's very dirty. There's shit everywhere, so we might be some time."

"This is disgusting," the woman's voice says faintly to whoever she's with. The man, equally faintly now, tries to appease her.

"There's another changing room on the lower floor. I'll take you."

I'm staring in a huge mirror on the wall over some kind of raised, padded shelf thing with patent ducks on. Why would you want to look at yourself while you're cleaning your baby's dirty arse? Behind me I see L turn away from the door and smile sadly at the back of my head.

"Who'd bring a baby here at this time of night? The things should be banned," he says. I can see that he's trying to get his head together, and before he does I'd like to steal something from him.

"L, whatever you say, mean it. Make me believe it."

Seconds seems to pass very slowly and really I'd just like to get out of here and away from him before he answers me, but then he does. "I want you. Not just what you're willing to give me and not this facade you've created. Save it for the press."

Maybe this wasn't a good idea at all because I care about what he says and I can't because, apart from anything else, this was doomed from the start. I have my plan and it doesn't include setting up a home with a male lawyer. He knows all this. He tells me this himself, or rather, he jokes about it, but he knows how things are. I have to create an ideal little package for sale to the masses or I might as well bow out now. The most I could hope for is Deputy Prime Minister, and that's just not good enough. I need to be voted in.

"I'm not sure if I can do that," I say.

"That's ok, as long as it's there. Sometimes I'm not sure if you have any feelings at all because you're so wrapped up in trying to get somewhere. Why do you do it?"

"Because it's right."

"And where do I fit in with all this? I'm not an aspiration, am I? Am I just... useful to you in the same way I was a year or so ago?"

"No, of course you're not."

"You know, I think I'll wait. I'll give you time. Because if and when you feel what I feel, you won't be able to keep it to yourself. I'll wait for that."

"And what do you feel?"

"Oh no, it doesn't work like that," he laughs gently, shaking his head. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours, and I don't think you're ready for that yet."

"Wait, we're not talking about comparing dicks here, are we?" and he smiles back at me in the mirror.

"Lower the tone, Light," he says, opens the door, and leaves.

I could... if I wanted to. It would be easy and would cut out all this arguing in tiny rooms. But it's a weakness though, isn't it? People make mistakes when they let themselves do stupid things like that. And where would that get me?

* * *

When I walk back into the bar, nobody notices. I go to my family who are now standing near the gifts table in a little pack. Touta spots me and trots up to meet me.

"Light, where have you been? People were asking?" he asks.

"Sorry, I was mingling."

"Is that yet another euphemism I hear?" L asks from behind me. He's just turned up out of nowhere but has already found a glass of red wine and my cake. I thought he might have gone straight away.

"Lawliet-san, you're still here," my dad points out. "I thought you'd left."

"I couldn't find the exit," L explains. Touta who, along with Sayu, looks to be in the early stages of being pleasantly drunk, points towards the door which is plain to see.

"It's just over there. I'll show you," he says, nearly choking on his drink.

"Matsuda-san, you're like a SatNav for my soul. Well, Happy Birthday, Light. I hope that this year will bring you every success."

"Thanks. I see that you found the cake."

"But we haven't lit the candles and sung yet!" Sayu objects, horrified by the violated cake. L glances at the object on his plate and apologises.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, L. We're not doing candles or singing. Sayu..." I say, shaking my head in despair.

"But it's your birthday!" she slurs.

"Yes, and I'm twenty nine."

My dad doesn't like the stupidity of our sibling conversation and turns to the least drunk person among us. "Lawliet-san, I wanted to congratulate you on your new position with the government. I read about it in the _Times_."

While L is extremely polite back, Sayu grabs my arm and weighs me down on one side, trying to see my phone. "Liiiiiiiight, who are you texting?" she asks. I press send and put the phone in my pocket.

"A big man from Brazil, hot off the pampas. I want him to make violent, passionate love to me for my birthday." My face is the deadest, flattest pan in the East and I drink my wine like a good boy. Everyone looks at me. My father visibly cringes and Touta bursts out laughing. Yes, I'm hilarious.

"Light, are you drunk?" my mother asks, smiling. Obviously this is the go-to excuse for me.

"Not really," I say and finish my glass of wine as L's phone bleeps in his pocket.

"Right, I better go. Right. Yes. Nice to meet you all," L says awkwardly. I see his hand reach into his coat pocket to hold his phone in anticipation and he leaves without Mihael who's falling all over Jeevas in hysterics at the bar. Poor Naomi looks incredibly bored, sitting on a stool and gazing at her reflection in the mirror behind the spirit bottles. She could be a Manet painting.

"It's Misa, isn't it? You're texting Misa, you idiot," Sayu says. She scowls with disapproval and looks a bit like an angry meerkat. Then my mother rounds on me. It strikes me as odd that men seem far more understanding of Misa than women.

"Oh, Light. Don't tell me that you're seeing her again? I'm sorry, Light, but since we're all adults here and I need to get this off my chest; she's a slut and an absolute fool. Who'd do that to my boy?" She strokes my head. I never want to see my mother after a few drinks ever again.

A couple walk past us; the man has an ugly baby strapped to his stomach by some kind of paisley, makeshift sling. Does he have no self-respect? I can hear some of their conversation as they pass and the woman talks indignantly.

"And then he told me to piss off. Said he was changing his baby with someone else and that there was shit everywhere."

"Bit like when Yumi had that stomach bug, I guess."

"Well, there's no need to be so rude about it."

* * *

It's seven in the morning and I have opened my presents. I have seventeen bottles of whisky, fourteen bottles of aftershave, nine spa vouchers, seven toasters, three juicers, two copies of a book I've already read about the economy, a copper wok, two sets of weights, a rice cooker, a Masako Ando print, a few tea sets, and L in my bed. Not a bad haul really.

I am showered, cleanly shaven, and fresh as a daisy. Misa sent me a bunch of roses, a doll of herself, a black shirt, and a letter which I haven't got the inclination to read right now. Jeevas sent me some smack inside a birthday card. God, I hate Jeevas.

* * *

Politicians spend a lot of time loitering in the halls of the House before and after sittings, like seagulls on a small rock at sea. Unfortunately Jeevas is standing near me, talking about Naomi and how she keeps leaving bridal magazines around his flat, and I am swiftly losing the will to live. The joy I feel when I see L sweep through the crowds with intent is unquantifiable, although it's odd for him to be here. Obviously he's looking for me.

"Tennis time already?" Jeevas asks as L joins our party of two, but L ignores him, possibly under the impression that if he believes strongly enough that Jeevas does not exist, that perhaps he will fade away. His face is particularly serious. I wonder if this is the storm coming.

"Yagami, can I speak with you for a moment?" he asks, and I walk with him towards one side of the lobby which is fairly private. He whispers while looking straight ahead. You wouldn't think that we were talking at all. "Takada is dead."

"What?"

"Heart attack. The news isn't out yet but it'll break within the hour. You need to come up with a statement. The press will grab you outside so make it good. Everyone else will look like idiots."

"Done. L, this is it, isn't it?"

"It's yours. Take it."

"Ours."

"I appreciate the sentiment but this is down to you now. I'm just giving you a heads up so you can make the best impression. Call The Lady when it's time. She appreciates sympathetic gestures, you know how she was fond of him. And don't forget to mention his wife and daughter to the press."

"I know. I know."

"And yes, this could be the end."

"Not yet." But God, it's close. Not that long ago, I was just Mikami's flunky in Transport. Now I see heaven. There's no trace of pain and misfortune in it, not for me. My life is a rose garden. I should be content with it but I want better. For everyone else, of course. I'm nice like that.

L leaves, gone in seconds through revolving doors. All of this shouldn't be a surprise, but it hits me as it always does with confirmation. I realise that I'm standing there staring after L's path as Jeevas sidles up to me. I blink and the shaking energy of winning dissipates.

"You and Lawliet seem very friendly," he says, as slimy as a waiter after a double shift. "Gotta say, I didn't think you'd be best friends. I thought he'd destroy you."

"Like he did you, you mean? Unlike you, Jeevas, my accounts are beyond reproach. I'm beyond reproach. And we're not especially close, he was just reminding me that we have a doubles match tomorrow. I'd consider him a friend though, yes."

"But, y'know, do you want to be associated with him?" he says, leaning on the pillar while scratching his head. "If you hang out with fags then -"

"What is wrong with you?" I shout. People turn to look at us, probably shocked to find I, oh so calm and unflustered Yagami of Education, am raising my voice at a moron in this sacred space. I want him to die. "What does that matter? Come over here." I walk with him to one side, but not far away enough to give us complete privacy. In fact, I'm counting on us having no privacy whatsoever. He stays close, like he's chained to me somehow, and has a look of a puppy who's just shat all over his own bed. "You will not get far if you're that bigoted," I tell him. "I don't mean career-wise, I mean at life."

"Christ, cool the fuck down!" he says. Is he actually _patting_ me on the shoulder? Yes, he's actually patting me on the shoulder. "I'm just pointing out that if you're best buds or something then people might talk, that's all. I didn't say there was anything wrong with him being an arse pirate."

"A _what_? Jeevas. Just when I think that you couldn't be any more of a twat than you are, you surprise me with new depths. Was there no doctor in your village? Did you mother have no choice but to give birth to you?"

His face suddenly sets with fury. "You know what? You have serious anger issues. I think you need some hard and intensive therapy. I'm just trying to give you some friendly advice. I watched _Queer As Folk_ back in the day, I've nothing against poofters, seriously."

"You're offensive. Knock that on the head or I'll have to recommend you for a discrimination in the workplace course, ok? How do you think that would look on your fucking résumé?"

"Woah, ok! God, you're so serious nowadays."

"Don't talk to me, Jeevas. You're a disgrace to the party."

I leave him standing there. People heard and they're talking about it now, I can see them. I must look appropriately disgusted as I walk through the lobby. Jeevas has just broken the cardinal rule. Outwardly everyone must appear to be accepting of all, even if the hypocrisy of this building means that reality is different. Smear campaigns must be committed by silent assassins, and Jeevas is incapable of such a thing. I'm so glad I wore these shoes today, the soles make my step echo and draws more attention to me and the man I left standing there.

* * *

Forty minutes later and the first reports of Takada's death break on the news. From one of the smaller conference rooms, I hear the roar of people talking at the same time, the first sign of a crisis. I straighten my tie, grab my briefcase, and head back to the lobby, through the crowd. They're all hiding from the press who have gathered outside. No one knows what to do and they're too terrified to leave. Someone has to make a statement to give some basic indication of what this means and how we should all feel. They must speak for the House and the country. I offer to call The Lady, since no one else does, as I expected. I offer my condolences and can hear her choke, like I'm gripping her throat tightly as she speaks. She appreciates 'my kindness'. My kindness. No one else has thought to call her. I ask if there's anything that I can do. Does she want me to make a statement to the press? The thought of the press obviously hadn't occurred to her. I emphasise the situation by saying how large the crowd is outside and that no one is able to leave the building. The first to do so will be expected to speak or they'll be hounded to death. She accepts my offer gratefully. 'But can you do it?' she says. 'What experience do you have?' I assure her that I won't mess it up. And I don't. On live television my face and voice tell of devastation, but hope and legacies. All the things you want to hear. I see myself replayed as the news gets repeated and repeated because there is nothing else remotely interesting to report. Nothing like the death of an old stalwart of politics, familiar to everyone, respected even by the opposition simply for retaining a place here for so long. I'm shown getting into my car. I am now the face; the stoic, brave man who told the country what they deserve to know.

L has a key to my apartment now. He's thinking of buying one of the other apartments in my building as a front so we don't have to be so careful about how often he can visit. His place is out of town and inconvenient for me.

"Didn't you do well?" he says, standing in the doorway of my lounge. Three quarter length coat, charcoal suit, inoffensive tie, briefcase in hand. God, we all look the same.

"Do you think so?" I ask lazily, turning my head towards him. I smile, he smiles. He really did underestimate me, didn't he? I turn back to my book and he dumps his case and coat on the kitchen counter.

"Come on, that was... even I'm surprised. You made it sound like we lost a bastion. It was so well done, Light."

"Thanks." I turn a page. He takes off his tie and unbuttons the collar of his shirt.

"You should see the news."

"I saw a bit." I'm recording SakuraTV actually, but he doesn't need to know that. L looks a little frightened of me somehow. I really have surprised him, but then, I had time for this. This came at just the right moment for me. Thank you, Takada, and your blessed knackered heart. Play golf in the sky forever. L sits next to me, puts one hand up my t-shirt and strokes my bare leg with the other. I have to admit, I don't look as impressive as I should, considering. Showered, damp hair, an old t-shirt, shorts, and it's only five o'clock. I look like I'm unemployed and I don't care. "I'm tired now though, L. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. This is a great day for you. A bad one for Takada, but who gives a shit? I'm proud of you."

Proud? What right do you have to be proud of me? I am not your creation. I make myself. I destroy and create.


	5. And What You Give Is What You Get

**A/N** Split into two for length. I wrote it on my phone (!) in between and sometimes during seminars about sportswear. Not that you need to know that, but it shows itself in terms of the underwhelming quality, I think. It hasn't really been edited, nor did I pay much attention to writerly things like basic punctuation and grammar. I am all the melodrama instead because I've condensed things which were originally intended to be spread out over several chapters. Did I say that there would be no more wangst? Sod that for a lark. Here we have lots of swearing, comedy of varying levels of funny, and wagnst. I probably won't be able to write anything else until December so have fun!

Special thanks to everyone but especially** thebarstool.** La douleur exquise! It's not in this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**And What You Give Is What You Get**

* * *

The Lady knows my name and remembers it. She holds back because she knows, we all know, that I'm the axe about to swing at her neck. It must be difficult sitting at the same table as your successor, so she keeps me at a friendly distance. I'm Head of the Foreign Affairs now, skipping across this farcical racecourse and completely missing out hurdles which I had fully expected to jump. After Takada's death and my little speech, my popularity went off the scale and I hardly had to campaign due to pressure within the House that I was the natural choice for Foreign, like I'm Takada the younger. There's no real competition but I do have two new official residences on behalf of the State, which is nice. My annual income is the currently the highest in Parliament, raised by from directorships, consultancy, after-dinner speeches, and parliamentary salary.

My aim is to sleep for only four hours a night like The Lady. I want to live and breathe my office as the leading personage in the country with the most power. The Lady taught us that this position need not be a puppet job, but she's growing old and has made some bad choices based on stubborn old school beliefs and the advice of idiots. This government, the whole parliament in fact, is populated by idiots and I feel alone here. Even though Mikami accepted the shackles of politics by not caring, I miss his cynicism sometimes. He'd always wink slyly at me in The House when a perfectly good idea was shot down by the Treasury in favour of a perfectly awful idea which was slightly less expensive. He'd laugh at the boos and jeers of the benches and when the opposition took the term 'opposition' a little too seriously. This country is past being on its way out, it's out the door and half-way down the street. But other countries have come back from worse. I'm not sure what I'm waiting for really, but I'll know when it's time.

I'm packing for my trip overseas tomorrow. No one seems to know exactly why I'm going apart from to shake hands with the Foreign Secretary of the United States and to laugh with him through an interpreter, but I'm going. My packing was all going so well until the knock on the door. I consider not answering, but the knocks are persistent and I can't ignore it. As I open the door, Mikami pushes in, dripping water on the floor and shuffling off his shoes like I'm not even here. He looks awful, like getting through a day is the equivalent to a year in the Vietnam War to him. His coat has a hole on the lapel, a cigarette burn on his sleeve, and he's soaking wet. This is ludicrous.

"Nice to see you," I say, instead of saying how my house is not somewhere you can just drop into if you're in the area when the weather's bad. "Can I get you a drink?" I look him over again. "I'll get you a drink."

"Thanks. Bring the bottle and all his friends," he replies. I'm sure that he'd love me to bring the bottle but if I do then he'll never leave. I drift sadly to the kitchen to make him a drink and text L while I'm at it. 'Mikami's here. Please bring me a noose.' Mikami has flopped into one of my chairs in the meantime and his entire body heaves with the relief of seeing the glass which I place in front of him. Once the glass is safely in his hand, he gushes forth. "You have to help me, Yagami. I'm out of money. I'm going to lose my house, everything. I'm practically bankrupt. The only good thing is that Shiori wants a divorce."

I stand there trying to care and let the words sink in before I take a seat next to him. Mikami's no good for loans. I'll never this money again and it'll probably all just go up his nose anyway. "How much do you need?" I ask.

"Thanks but it's more than that," he says, like he's a cryptic crossword. I can't bring myself to say anything, just hope that he follows it up without me having to waste my breath by verbally prodding him through. "I'm not stupid," he continues eventually, "I know that The Lady's on her way out anyway and that you'll probably get leadership. Even if you don't, you'll still have influence and I need my job back."

"Hey, I wouldn't agree with any of that. What makes you think The Lady is on her way out?"

"I know some things. Valuable information."

"Right." I drink my vodka. Here we are in _Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy _territory again. Mikami has spoken of 'valuable information' in the past. He spoke about it often when I worked as his deputy and I soon worked out that he had none but that it sounded impressive. I wonder if I've packed a tie for every occasion.

"Listen," Mikami sniffs, "if I tell you, you have to promise me that you'll help me. I would if it was the other way around."

I nearly snort into my glass but manage to recover. "I'll have to see what I can do. It might be a bit soon to bring you in again. I'd give it another six months at least, and even then you won't be able to have Health again, or anything like it. I might be able to get you in my department but the post will be considerably less than what you had before. I'm sorry."

"That's fine. That's great. Anything with a wage."

"Yeah, but the wage will be a lot less than what you're used to as well. I might be able to create an aide position for you. I'll have to look into it and speak to Lawliet about PR." I'm determined not to commit to anything, ever. I might speak to people but L will definitely say no. I might be able to get him a position somewhere, someday, and I might be his friend if it'll be beneficial to my public image, which I doubt, but I'm not promising anything.

"Anything. Thanks, Yagami. I knew that I could count on you. Friends for fucking life, yeah?" he says, raising his glass and then downing the lot. He's not even letting this stuff touch the sides. What a waste. I might as well have brought in a bottle of bleach.

"Did you want ice in that?" I ask as he pours himself another glass.

"No. Nice place by the way. Is that a Cy Twombly?" He points his drink towards the painting. I can't bring myself to answer that. One good thing about Mikami is that you never need a coaster when he's around; his glass always stays in his hand like it's part of him. He is, however, lighting a cigarette. I have a horrible feeling that he thinks that my Holmegaard glass ashtray is actually there to be used.

"So, what's this information?" I ask, trying to hurry him on and out before he turns this place into an opium den. He smiles at my Cy Twombly before turning to me.

"Well, this is from Jeevas. Wait, wait, I know what you're thinking, but listen. The Lady's been meeting with this oil man from fuck knows where. One of these unpronounceable, godforsaken, bombed from all sides, war torn places in the Middle East. Looks like they're setting up some deal for The Lady to give money and guns to the militant groups there. She's in it with a couple of other countries apparently. In return, when the government there is beaten, she'll have access to an oil field there or something."

"God," I breathe out silently. It's finally arrived, but I'm surprised at my disappointment in The Lady. I have three options now; let her ride out her inevitable course, bring this up and destroy her, or... I almost want to save her. I want her to have a legacy which will be all but obliterated by these failing years. I cough to open my throat again. "How does Jeevas know about this?"

"He was with her as some kind of escort," he says. "I don't know, to protect her purity? He was probably just there as a driver so she didn't have to hire a someone. She obviously trusts Jeevas, though I've no idea why. He overheard some of their talks and they've been going on for months. The first shipment of arms was sent last week."

I knew that I should keep Jeevas close for some reason. If only he didn't make it such an unpleasant experience to be in the same room as him. "But there's no proof of this, no minutes of the meetings?" I ask.

"Of course not, Yagami, it's completely off the books. It's more like a personal endeavour. They meet for dinner in some rented place outside of the city."

"So all we're going on is Jeevas' word?"

"He couldn't make something like this up if he tried. He was off his head. He somehow managed to propose to Naomi by accident, she said yes, and he turned up at mine to drown his sorrows. We were talking about the House and The Lady and then he came out with all this. I don't think he remembers telling me. Hey, you had Naomi, didn't you? What's she like?"

"I didn't 'have' her. She participated."

"Yeah, yeah, and all that politically correct shit. Well?"

"She deserves better than to hitch her wagon to Jeevas."

"Agreed."

"So, that's it then? That's all you have on The Lady?"

"You can do something with this, can't you?" he asks earnestly.

"I'll look into it," I say, trying to sound appropriately cynical. I don't want Mikami to get too hopeful. "I'll try to substantiate it at any rate."

"Knew you could. I wouldn't know where to start now since most of my contacts have blown me off. So, yeah, you'll deal with this?"

"I said that I'll look into it, Mikami. If it's true then it's a matter of national or even global importance if other countries are involved." I stand and take the bottle back to the kitchen so even Mikami will know that it's time for him to go. L's sent me a message back telling me not to hang myself and that he'll see me tomorrow. Shit. Oh well, I suppose that this can wait a few more hours. Mikami doesn't speak again until I return and sit in the chair opposite him.

"This will see you in," he says to himself, following it up with a regretful laugh. He must be thinking of the unfairness of it. If only he'd hung in a little longer then he might have been the one using this, not me. What did L say to me once? Oh, yes. A ladder in a roomful of snakes. Mikami leans back and smiles at me, trying to regain his usual joie de vivre. "So, who knew? Prime Minister fucking Yagami. And to think that you were my deputy a few years ago. I remember the first time I saw you in the House. I didn't realise."

"It's too early to say things like that," I mutter. My lack of enthusiasm seems to dent his good humour and make him thoughtful instead.

"I fucked up, didn't I? Whatever you do, do it well, that's what I always say. Fucking up included." He takes another shot of vodka. This is almost depressing.

"Mikami, if this works out then I'll bring you back into the House. You know that. I need people I can trust around me," I tell him with a smile. Or people I don't trust. I need to watch these things.

"Thank you. That means a lot," he nods.

"It's nothing. Really." There's ash on my table and I can't think. I can't think. He needs to get out of here.

"Yeah, it is," he says quietly, staring into his near empty glass. "You don't have to, I know. I do these things, I don't know why. I wanted to leave my mark, and now my mark will be a blood spatter at the bottom of a cliff. Then the tide will come in and even that will be gone."

I watch him drain his glass with all the gusto of a raging alcoholic after making a profound statement. I never thought of Mikami contemplating anything below the epidermis of life. He always struck me as someone who would either pull himself together, never taking life entirely seriously, or simply fade away and everyone would wonder what happened to him for all of five minutes at a get together fifty years from now.

He glances at me and must find what he thinks is my concerned expression to be amusing, maybe realises what he's said, stands and buttons up his coat again. "Ha! Don't worry, Yagami. I'll be ok. Maybe we could have a drink sometime? I'll put it on my tab."

* * *

I wanted to speak with L before I left for the airport today but my phone calls go unanswered. The best I get is a text message telling me to fuck off and leave him alone. I send him one back reminding him that I am fucking off to another country this afternoon, and leave it at that. An hour or so later, the door to my office opens suddenly and hits the wall with force as L strides in, interrupting me in the middle of a very important comment. We don't work in the same building anymore so the thought of him walking from his building to mine in the state he's in is rather frightening to me. I watch him pace my room for a few seconds before he speaks. "Tell me why I thought it was a good idea to work here," he demands.

"Erm... L, we're in a the middle of a phone conference."

"Put them on hold," he tells me and presses the hold button for me. Then he notices my PA who was until recently taking notes. "And you, you can fuck off, love. Go on, out. Get some hairspray on that nest of yours or powder your fucking nose or something," he says, practically chasing her out of the room, slams the door, and walks back towards me. His eyes are huge, like something that an Olympian would throw, and he generally looks physically crumpled by the burden of living. "I have to tell you this because these are probably my last hours outside of a prison cell. I'm going to find that twat in Agriculture and I'm going to push live grenades up his arse until you can see them under his skin. Then I'm going to take him to the circus and make an elephant stand on him. I'm _this_ close, Light. LIGHT!" He runs towards me and covers the hold button with his hand as I attempt to reconnect my call.

"L, I really -"

"For someone who's so overeducated that it's surprising that you don't have 'Baudelaire woz ere' tattooed on your dick, you're being very, very, _very_ stupid. This is not a moment for you to be dismissive. I am a man who has been pushed off the edge mentally, and now I'm in your office. No, this is not your problem, but I'm making it your problem. I'm not joking here, I could be turned by a terrorist group. They'd only have to give me a balaclava and I'd be all theirs."

"But -"

"No, no, no, no, you have to shut your face because I'm feeling more than a little disillusioned right now. It's moments like this when I wonder why I didn't just stay in the fucking womb. This is _The Towering Inferno_ of legal disasters, right? I look around, I see lawsuits. Everywhere. Even this carpet looks questionable. I expected to have to clean up some PR nightmares but this place is like one of those Hieronymus Bosch paintings. You know, with the little demons poking everyone's arses with pointy sticks? I can't stand politicians. First, I have to block some unflattering photos of The Lady on holiday from being printed, then I had to sack some goon in Work and Pensions, but nicely. How do you sack someone nicely? And that was yesterday. Last night, I got word through that some idiots were threatening to sell a story to _The Times_ about that fuckwit in Agriculture. I can't actually say his name because I hate him so much. You know him."

"Kitamura."

"_Christ_, don't say his name like that, I'm fucking allergic!" he shouts, pacing again and raking his hands through his hair distractedly. I get him a drink because, early in the day as it is, he looks like an expectant father on a maternity ward. "But yes, him," he continues, taking the drink I offer on his round trip. "Kita... Urgh. He is insane. I don't mean quirky and affable, I mean that he needs a straitjacket and a lot of medication. Turns out that he's been going to some massage parlour or some shack somewhere which probably has corrugated steel on the roof. And no, it's not a place of good repute. So I've spent all night and most of this morning trying track these people down and make this go away before a lot of 'masseurs' go to the press. I should just ring it in myself but I can't now because I've been asked to get rid of the problem. And you know what? Just now, he comes in and says, 'Lawliet, my old friend, my old chum, while you're at it, could you deal with this little problem for me?' No, of course I don't mind. I have nothing else to do. I'll just plug myself into the mains and recharge while I spend twenty-four hours straight sweeping your mistakes under the fucking rug. Listen to this, his wife bribed a policeman to let her off for a shitload of driving offences, including driving under the influence, and I'm expected to sort this out. What am I, a one man miracle? Who cares about Agriculture anyway? They might as well hire the scarecrow from the _Wizard of Oz _because nobody actually _cares_! It's just combine harvesters, isn't it?"

It's hard to take my eyes off him. It's like finding yourself in a room with a man-eating wolf with rabies which has been darted several times and is really pissed off about it. "I'm in a phone conference," I repeat.

"You said that," he says. "So, I suggest that maybe, just maybe, she should just take the fall, but no, can't have that. Our dear Agriculture muck spreader minister's not so excellent reputation will be tarnished by his choice in a wife. Well, she's taking the fall. My job description does not cover her unless The Lady says so, and she's on holiday, so Agriculture and his wife are royally fucked. Can you get me a coffee? And sugar. No, just bring me a sugar bowl and put some petrol in it."

"L, I'm in a-"

"Yes, I know, a phone conference and they're on hold." He walks over and presses the end call button. "Ooops, they're not even on hold anymore. Was it important? I hope not."

"That was important!" I shout, and desperately try to reconnect the call.

"Oh dear, whatever will we do? Let's tear our hair out. Let's panic for a moment and make things that don't matter seem really important. Coffee is important. _I_ am fucking important," he tells me.

"I don't think you need any more coffee, I can see it swishing behind your eyeballs. Why did Mihael let you roam free like this?"

"He's busy with the masseurs. They're all illegal immigrants so they can shut the fuck up or they can get back on their little raft made from coke cans and fuck off back to Tuva-fucking-lu or wherever they came from. Anyway, you. You're taking the afternoon off because I'm taking charge of this situation. What are you doing?"

"I'm ringing them back."

"No you're not. You have to look after me, Light. I'm feeling very vulnerable and need some homoeroticism to ease my urge to kill. What have you done to your hair? This is far too tidy, we have to mess it up a bit. _God_, I hate your trousers."

"L, if you're planning on dropping by for whatever you have in mind, which, by the way, I can't accommodate right now, I'd appreciate it if you'd call first. Then I will, of course, drop everything and run to you with my pants around my ankles."

"I sense just a smidge of sarcasm there," he says, calming quickly and throwing himself into a chair. "Never let it be said that I'm not sensitive to these subtleties. Are you in business mode by any chance?"

"Let's see, it's one thirty... so yeah."

"I've finished work," he tells me proudly, bouncing his leg feverishly over the other.

"How?" I ask. "I got the impression that you'd be working until the end of time."

"I pulled an all-nighter, that's how. And Agriculture and his wife can go to hell on a toboggan. Didn't you notice the way I wasn't with you last night?"

"I noticed. My home became a spa retreat to me for the night and I actually managed to pack. Now, excuse me, but I have to finish this conference."

"Pick up that phone and I will eviscerate you."

"You couldn't eviscerate a piece of cod. Seriously, you look like you've been dead for three months."

"I know that's a complete lie. I'm 98% certain that... well, I'm bloody certain that that's a lie. My tiredness and seething anger must only make me more attractive because, wait, it gets better. Along with this tidal wave of farmyard slurry that I have had to deal with, it turns out that my receptionist is in love with me. She cornered me, opened her coat, nothing underneath. It was horrifying. Now I'm going to have to sack her nicely."

"When did you get a receptionist? What about Mihael?" I ask.

"Mihael can't do everything," he laughs as he crosses his arms. I'm yet to figure out exactly what Mihael does apart from follow L around, but who am I to comment? "It's very disappointing really because I went to great trouble to get her," he carries on. "Headhunted her from Ajibana's law firm actually. Mostly because I hate them, but she was supposed to be good. She is good, but she's also visually molested me."

"I wish that I had an opinion on this traumatic event but it'll have to wait until later," I say, although realistically I don't see that happening unless I call security. I'm already making plans of finishing my conference on the flight and explaining how my office was invaded by some anarchists. I'm sure that happens all the time.

"No, it won't wait until later. Get your coat," he says, standing to get my coat for me, throwing it at my desk, which it misses.

"L, I have to finish up here and then get to the airport."

"I know, and I'm very annoyed about that too."

"Do me a favour and be annoyed somewhere else for fifteen minutes while I sort out this clusterfuck conference."

"I'll wait here. Make it quick," he says, sitting down again. He taps the armrests agitatedly with his fingertips and looks up into my staring face. "What? I won't say a word."

I wonder whether this is the best time, but my time is at a premium right now. I might send him a memo in case he forgets because he's probably not taking in much information at the moment. "Actually, they can wait. I have to talk to you about something."

"Really? Oh, I'm so glad I decided to drop by. You're going to ask me for something, aren't you? If it involves something sexually violent then you'll probably get it."

"The Lady has been up to something."

"Something sexually violent?"

"No. Dodgy dealings. I need you to look into it for me while I'm away."

"The Lady? Dodgy? Tell me all about it."

"Mikami spilled his guts to me and -"

"I told you to cut ties with him. He's no good for your public image," he interjects. "Besides, he's very good-looking."

"When you've finished wanking off over Mikami, can I draw your attention to this prime example of why I never listen to you? He wants me to help him in return for a snippet, vague as it was. Jeevas overheard something but doesn't quite realise what it means. The Lady has been in talks with an oil magnate. She's selling arms to some militant groups abroad in order to have access to their oil fields. There were no minutes taken of these meetings, apparently it was all social. I need you to find something to expose it while I'm out of the country so I won't be linked to it. I can't start an accusation process without proof."

L leans back in the chair like a mad king and mulls it over. He's obviously stumped at the Jeevas connection as much as I am, but even so, it has a ring of truth to it. "Even The Lady falls," he says. "I suppose that we can conclude that this experiment with democracy and free speech has failed."

"There must be something, right?"

"It depends how good she is at hiding her tracks. In my experience, she's pretty good. So, apart from Mikami and Jeevas, does anyone else know about this?"

"No one. As I say, Jeevas doesn't know what it means anyway."

"What did he say exactly? At the moment it sounds like he said that she spoke to an oil magnate and your mind went into overdrive."

"Jeevas heard bits of the conversation. They're definitely in talks for providing arms and finance to these groups in return for siphoning oil for nothing when the government is overthrown. Mikami knows that The Lady's on her way out anyway and that I'm next up for leader, so he's trying to make himself useful in return for a job in the government."

"This all comes from Jeevas though," L emphasises annoyingly, wagging a lazy finger at me.

"I know it's fucking Jeevas but just look into it, ok? Apparently these secret talks have gone on for months and some arms were shipped last week. You have to be able to trace it. She'll be impeached, I'll be voted in as leader, and maybe we can avoid a general election."

"Yes, Light, because you know that that's a very strong possibility. I would even say that it's a certainty because what The Lady does reflects on the entire party. I don't think that even you can save it."

"If I'm seen to cast out every trace of corruption and rebuild the party, of course I can."

"The opposition won't have it."

"The opposition are a bunch of clowns at a clown contest and they won't know what to do or what to expect. We act before they have a chance to put together some argument which will stand. Also, when this is leaked to the press, it could be implied that the some of their members were involved to line their own bank accounts. Make this as dirty as you possibly can, whether it's true or not. Just make the way clear for me." I rush the words out because I'm essentially ordering him to do something and he doesn't take orders with a smile. As it happens, he seems to accept my logic, or is at least slightly impressed that I've heard of something so explosive which has apparently gone under his radar completely.

"I do love the way your mind works," he says. "Corruption to destroy corruption."

"So, you'll do it then?" I ask.

"You know me and unearthing secrets, scratching the surfaces, discarding something unworthy. I'm intrigued. Of course I'll do it. And you're so sure that you can handle the fallout?" He smiles at me and I smile back.

"Politics is a world within a world and I will destroy the rot from the inside. They never saw me coming."

"Oh, Light. Take me!" he exhales dramatically, sprawls back in the chair and laughs.

"I don't know," I wonder, looking at my watch. "Taking didn't factor into my itinerary for the day."

"Shift some things around, would you?" he says, staring at the ceiling like his eyes are frozen. "I'm like one of Pavlov's fucking dogs here just from the sound of your voice, and after two years too, which I think is some kind of record. It's so unfortunate that I'm spent. Will it do if I'm just here instead of participating in any physical or mental capacity?"

"Boring," I sigh.

"You'll find this out for yourself but when you hit thirty-five you tend to lose stamina and take up electric blankets and going to garden centres instead."

* * *

After a week of nothing but sun, shaking hands, smiling, and talking through interpreters, Japan welcomed me back with the worst weather for years. The wind and rain strips the new leaves from the trees to whip around me, me and everyone else who walks in a straight line to wherever they're going, and wherever after that, on grey afternoons, forever. I've slept for four hours or less a night for a week, but not entirely voluntarily. Life is killing me.

Climbing the stairs of the car park to the third floor and back to my car, I notice a large bundle in the stair well. As I get closer, I see that it's a man, his form at odds with the brutalist surroundings. I stop, more interested in the people walking around him as if he's just some refuse in their way. Some movement catches my eye and I see him reach a hand towards me. He wants me to help him. Maybe I'm the first person to actually see him for a long time as he's obviously homeless; his coat is ragged at the edges against the concrete. He clasps his other hand to his forehead and the rich dark blood oozes between his fingers. I see the dirt ingrained into the skin of his outstretched palm as people pass in the space between us. He disgusts me. His expression changes, not with anger, but sad realisation, and I reach into my coat slowly, pull out my phone, and take a photo of him with his hand hanging limply toward me. I've captured his shocked, broken face.

"I'll call for an ambulance," I say clinically and walk past him, just like everyone else.

When my car comes into sight the tiredness hits me again like a wave and I start rooting through my pocket for the key. I can't find the key. I can't quite believe it so I stop next to my car to check every pocket on me. It's not there. Fuck. This catastrophe threatens to ruin my entire day, which hasn't been particularly brilliant anyway, but then my car door opens. I bend down suspiciously to see who or what is inside.

"I was getting sick of waiting for you," L says from the passenger side. "I was thinking of leaving this thing with all the doors open and the key in ignition."

"You stole my keys?"

"I didn't steal them, Light. I wandered into your office while you were in the House and the keys happened to be in your coat pocket when my hand found itself there. They just leapt into my hand really."

"You broke into my office and stole my keys?"

"Ok, I stole your keys. You have them back. Get in and drive already," he says moodily. I fall into the driver's seat. What are these fucking sweet wrappers doing everywhere?

"What's wrong with your car?" I ask as I start the engine.

"It's in for a service."

He's rather brusque, I think. I don't know what's wrong with him, it's not like I stole his car keys. Maybe he thought that I'd throw myself at him after a week apart. "You could have got a taxi," I suggest, equally brusquely.

"I don't like taxis," he explains. "There's always the faint smell of vomit on the back seats. And hello. How was America?"

"Very American."

"That's surprising. Oh, what's that you say? 'Fine, thanks. How are you, L? I missed you like Bambi missed his mother?' Well, I'm pissed off actually. Someone went abroad for a week and did I hear a word from him? No. No, I did not. I bet he didn't even bring me back a present. But enough about me. Your Beatles CD skips like a bitch, by the way."

"I thought that you'd call me if you made some progress, so I'm guessing that you don't know what progress means. And the CD's not mine. It was in the car when I picked it up."

"I couldn't really picture you chugging along to it. The thought that you'd actually developed some musical taste made me catatonic for a moment there. Glad we've cleared that little mystery up."

"L, you talk too loud and too much. I'm going to have to ignore you while I drive."

"Oh, the dreaded jet lag has you, I see. Turn right here."

"Why?"

"I want a cherry coke."

"You're joking."

"No. It's distilled from the tears of babies who live in the shadow of the Appalachian mountains."

"Fuck off. I'm going home and I'm going to bed."

"Oh, excellent idea."

"To sleep," I clarify. "Please stop talking. Do you have an aspirin?"

"No, but I have a chocolate mint drop and that's just as good. Here. So, how are you? You look like shit."

"Thanks."

"Would you like to hear some news? I have a range on a scale of boring but let's start with my favourite story of the week. Misa Amane tried to commit suicide onstage. Unfortunately, someone stepped in."

"Oh God."

"I would have demanded my money back if I'd been in the audience. Upshot is, she's in some institution making wicker baskets as we speak. How does it feel to have contributed to your ex-girlfriend's mental collapse?"

"Shut up, L."

"Gladly."

He does, bizarrely. After a few moments of awkwardness, I offer him an olive branch. "Look in my briefcase," I tell him.

"Le sac magique!" he says, grabbing it and popping open the locks. "Oh, you didn't forget, thanks! Contraband!"

"Hmmm... I'd say it was nothing but I felt like a right twat smuggling that lot through customs."

"I bet," he mumbles and puts on the CD player, skipping through tracks until he settles on some mournful moaning. 'Half of what I say is meaningless.' He's right there. What is this shite? I turn it off.

"That's my favourite song you've just switched off. I've helped send people to prison for less," he says, staring ahead at the road. I don't reply and after a few minutes of the silence I would pay for, he speaks again. "I have to speak to you."

"Go on," I tell him.

"Not here. Drive faster."

I drive to the speed limit. A speeding ticket wouldn't look good for me. I can tell that my strict adherence to the law is infuriating him judging by his sighs. I'm not sure if I should be driving really; everything seems further away than it should be and my reactions are slow. My mind drifts back to the stairwell. "Did you see that guy on the stairs in the car park?" I ask.

"Hmmm? What guy?" he replies, looking out the window.

"Some homeless guy. He'd fallen or something. I said that I'd call an ambulance."

"Oh. He was probably drunk, they normally are. He's not the electorate so don't worry about it." He's completely uninterested and puts the CD back on and the same dismal song. I let him play it this time as he stares out of the window or at the rain streaming down it. "I didn't notice him anyway," he mumbles dreamily. "Maybe he wasn't there when I was."

"You just didn't see him."

"That's very likely. Did you call him an ambulance?"

"No."

* * *

Back at my apartment, I'm torn between falling into bed and wanting to know what L has to tell me. I'll know by the first few sentences whether it's actually important or not, and if it's not, then I'll fall into bed. I wonder if he's being so quiet for my benefit. That's not very like him if that is the reason.

"So?" I ask, dumping my cases by the door. L, of course, never offered to help me, but carried his American chocolate which I brought back for him.

"Well, it looks like the moment has arrived," he says, looking out of the window at the evening sky like it's stunned him. Just one window for another.

"What moment?"

"I would make sure that all your suits are pressed. You might be needing them shortly."

"What is it? I can't stand your verbal drumroll of suspense." I hate him right now and he probably knows it because I'm past trying to hide it. He probably hates me too. This isn't the happiest reunion. I actually want him to leave in the same way that I wanted Mikami to leave a week ago. A nerve twitches under my eye and I press my hand to it to try and stop it throbbing. "Just say what you have to say because I really have to get some sleep."

"Ok, it seems that you were right. There's evidence that, if tweaked, would speak of a collusion between The Lady and our good friend, J.R. Fucking Ewing, and it will surface if I want it to. Secret treaties are the way of getting rid of a leader and bringing an election forward, so you should just be prepared."

My exhaustion dissipates like a passing shower. I'd lost hope that he'd actually find something since I'd basically sent him on the investigative equivalent of looking for flower fairies. It's like every fibre of me is on fire from the shock of the news. "Ha! God, it's like I wrote the script to this. You have evidence? Wait, what do you mean it 'may surface' if you want it to?

"I want to be sure of your intentions here."

I rush towards him, blocking his view of the sky, and take his face in my hands. He drops what he's carrying. "You know my intentions!" I tell him. "Vote of no confidence, threat of impeachment. She'll have no choice but to go. The election will be brought forward and I'll be voted in as leader and win. I cannot lose this. God, L, I love you! You can't imagine how much this means to me."

He looks at me for a long moment and I feel his face turn to stone in my hands. "I knew that you'd be like this," he whispers.

"What's wrong with you now?" I ask, but I can't keep from smiling. I couldn't change my expression, whatever it looks like, if I tried.

"You haven't got anything yet," he points out but I kiss him briefly anyway before walking away, ripping my tie off as I go. I should have a cigar. People have cigars at moments like this. I have no cigars.

"Well, obviously it's as good as done, isn't it?" I say as I settle for whisky instead. "Right, when are you going to do it? Do it tomorrow. You should have done it while I was away, like I told you. Why didn't you? Oh, fuck it, who cares? Go with the paper with the largest readership with the exclusive and it'll filter through. No, maybe you should send it to the news stations at the same time? Yes. Yes, you have to do that. What evidence have you got? Let me see it."

"Yeah, I just carry a bomb like that around with me," he says sarcastically, still rooted to the spot but watching me. "Be assured that it's enough, but you can't have it."

My joy of the moment makes me slow to his words but they hit me as I approach him with two tumblers in my hand. "You are joking. You better be joking."

"I'm not saying that I don't want this, but the country is stable right now. Other world leaders are involved in this scheme too so we have to consider the ramifications globally as well. In terms of you, you're the natural choice for the next leader anyway and The Lady won't run another term. If this comes out then it'll cause a split and I'm not sure if you're established enough yet. Why are you rushing?"

"What? You're actually thinking of letting this go? Whose side are you on?"

"I don't know."

I bark out a laugh as anger is thrown in with my exultation. "This is about you, isn't it?" I say, dumping the glasses on the table with frustration. "You're actually more concerned about what effect this will have on you. Well, don't worry, L. You'll keep your job. I'll give you a pay rise and all that shit. Wait, you can have this apartment. No, somewhere closer to the Kantei. We'll have to sort it out. You can sort it out. But no, nothing will change but your bank balance and that you'll be fucking the Prime Minister instead. How about that for an ego trip?"

"Why are you so cold about this? I don't care about money. Is it only power that you want? What about the aspirations you kept telling me that you had? All these policies you wanted to go through to improve things for people. If this happens, you're leader of a country and you work for the people. I've used corruption to get you here so you can eradicate it, that's what you said once. That's what you wanted."

"And that'll all happen. That's the piss easy part. Give me a moment of jubilation for a minute, will you? Do you expect me to be weighed down by responsibility already? Excuse me for a moment, I have to weep in the corner for a while because I can't possibly be happy about this even though it's what I've been working for for years."

"Your ambition means more to you than I do and it means more to you than the actuality of being head of this country's government. You haven't won a medal or been chosen for prom king. This is serious."

"Oh, great. I knew this was all about you. I'm very sorry that I have more in my life than you, L. Sometimes I think that you'd rather I was nothing, like I was Mihael or someone. Some nobody who serves you. I'm sorry that I don't have time to think about you every waking minute and that my world doesn't revolve around you. Fuck's sake."

"I don't expect or want that. I want you to make this happen as much as you do, but not if you're going to be like everyone who's gone before you. I didn't help you for that."

"I'm nothing like them."

"And I'm not hiding forever," he says.

"Oh God!" I laugh again. My head can't cope with this. I should have dealt with this myself and never have brought him into it. Of course he was going to do this. He goes on to tell me exactly what I expect him to say.

"I'll resign before you run for leader and after an appropriate time you come out of your cosy little closet. No big announcement, just gradually letting it filter through is the best way. It might have prevented you becoming PM but they can't kick you out because of it. That's my demand."

"You've done all this so you can be First fucking Lady?" I shout at him.

"Not at all, I couldn't give a shit what your status is, but this isn't something I'm willing to hide for much longer, especially with all the press attention you'll get. Do you really think that we can carry on dropping by and staying over at each other's houses without someone realising? We're basically jumping over garden fences under the cover of darkness as it is. You know what this is? It's _Maurice_ in reverse, that's what it is, and it's got to stop. This self-loathing is something you have to get over and make no apologies for it."

"I have no issue with it, what I have an issue with is you laying demands down and blackmailing me into complying like I don't have a say in this. They'll look into our history and gossip will start flying around. That could put my position in jeopardy, so no. Shit idea, L. No deal," I say as I pick up my whisky and down it. So he's been sitting on this all week probably. God knows how long he's been planning this kind of coup d'état of madness.

"If you don't then they'll find out anyway and you'll be pushed out for dishonesty. How can they trust you when you can't even be honest about your personal life?"

"It's nobody's business!"

"No, but it will be when you're Prime Minister whether you like it or not."

"You have contacts so you block any rumours. Have you turned completely stupid while I was away?"

"Light, you really don't understand. Do you think that they'll take any notice of me when they have a scandal involving the PM? You're ignorant."

"And you're a real killjoy," I say, trying to calm him into submission with difficulty. I place my hands on his shoulders. "Listen, let's just enjoy the moment, yeah? We did this."

"Yes, and you said that you loved me."

"When?"

"Just now."

"Did I?" I stall, trying to rewind over the last few minutes. "Well, I do. I love what you've done for me."

"I see," he mumbles. No, he's not pleased with my answer, which is made clear when he walks past me.

"And where are you going?" I ask. He doesn't reply, so I follow him like it's an idiot conga line. "L, where are you going?"

"Home."

"Hey, what is your problem?"

"You are my problem."

"You know, you're wonderful, but you're also very annoying with your flipping from one thing to the other. Everything will be fine in the morning," I assure him. He'll come around to my way of thinking, he always does, but he spins around at my words, surprising me. I nearly walk into him and laugh in his face.

"Oh, yes. Fine in the morning, but for how long?" he asks me. "Light, if you betray me, ever, I will bring you down so fast that you'll be living under a bridge before the end of the week. You'll be telling a sock puppet about how you were nearly god of your new world."

"Ha! Yeah, L, whatever. Try it. Just fucking try it."

"I don't think you know who you're dealing with."

"And I don't think that you have any idea what I'm capable of."

"You? You think that I'm frightened of you?"

"You better give this to the press, L. If I don't hear whispers of this next week then I'll..."

"What, kill me?" he finishes for me. I stumble slightly at the thought and have to grab the back of the chair to stop myself from stepping backwards. His eyes flicker over me with disgust. "You know, I've never seen anything more pathetic than you at this moment."

"Oh! You want me to tell you that you've done well?" I ask, recovering. There's no way on earth that he's leaving. "Well, you have. I'm very grateful and you should shut up so I can show you." I rush to the door and slam it shut just as he opens it an inch. He is actually disgusted with me. How can that be?

"I hate you sometimes," he breathes into the door.

"Hate. Love. Same thing," I tell him, and wrap one arm around his chest.

"You sound like Jeevas."

What a despicable thing to say. I want to hit him and kiss him for it. Only he would hand me something with a proviso. Who else would dare? I lean forward and press my lips against his ear. His hair falls in my eyes and all I see is darkness then, his particular darkness, and it's such a relief. I haven't seen it for over a week and it feels like years. And to think that I nearly forgot all about it. The thought seems ridiculous now as he tenses from the feeling of my breath as it curls around the shell of his ear. My voice sounds like an echo of a sea breeze carrying words as I speak directly to the heart of him.

"You can't leave, L. My L, you can't leave. You can't miss this. I'm going to make you see stars."


	6. I'm Just A Killer For Your Love

**Chapter Six**

**I'm Just A Killer For Your Love**

* * *

I wouldn't say that things are fine in the morning, but he's still here. He gratefully took up the subject of his family and friends instead of what he really wants to talk about but is too emotionally exhausted to bring up again. We're talking about his mother instead, a Japanese woman who left his English father when L was fifteen. L stayed in England to be educated to within an inch of his life while she returned to Japan, and their relationship never fully recovered. His relationship with his father sounds equally shaky to me, though L assures me as though he's assuring himself that it's absolutely perfect. He's his father's favourite son, the others are very disappointing and L can't stand them. His sister is an idiot who likes horses and not much else, and his best friend is known as B and he lives in France. L's yet to say his real name and I'm yet to ask. I can barely begin to care. I wonder if he had a friend called 'T', because that would have been quite funny during a roll call.

"So, what are you doing today?" L asks me. "Oh wait, you haven't checked your diary. Everything stops for the diary check."

"I booked the day off to recover from the trip since I went in yesterday straight from the airport."

"You need to recover from a holiday?"

"It wasn't a holiday, it was work."

"It's strange that the better the job you get, the less you work, whereas the better the job I get, the harder I work."

"My work is just condensed and I'm more efficient."

"Oooh, and there's Prime Minister's Circle Jerk tomorrow," he comments with mock excitement as he drinks his coffee.

"Questions," I correct, and drink mine.

"Otherwise known as everyone patting themselves on the back and a general ego boost for all concerned. Meanwhile, I do all the hard work that keeps you in business."

"That's very cynical of you, L. How can you speak like that about our wonderful establishment? It's almost like you want to hurt my feelings," I say, smiling as I reach for a newspaper. He replies in his cold, bored tone as he mirrors my action, flapping a newspaper wide with some sense of irritation.

"I doubt it. The only way I could hurt your feelings is by dragging dog shit through your apartment and pissing all over that bloody awful table of yours. Do you actually like any of these things, or do you just think that you should? You don't know, do you? You're just some shipeshifter without a personality of his own, not a nice one anyway, so you just create a tasteful face for everyone. Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I don't want to argue with you."

"Oh. Not even to defend yourself? Please?"

"We're not in court and you could argue with yourself in an empty room. I have nothing to say to such stupid statements."

"No matter. Back to the point, you'd never get anywhere in this 'wonderful establishment' of yours without me, and you know it. You'd still be a little backbencher. I'm very useful for this game you're playing."

"Politics is not a game and I don't need a strategist, thank you."

"I suppose not, but I'm still very useful, aren't I? Give me that much."

"You're useful... on occasion."

"Of course I fucking am," he says with little restraint into the open newspaper he's holding.

"L, calm down."

"I am calm," he tells me, and it sounds just as believable as when he told me that he and his father are on excellent terms. This kind of antagonism is typical of him, and he gets away with it as long as he doesn't make eye contact. "Tell me," he says, "you were involved in the Penber dossier weren't you? I can tell by your style and spin." He's right, I did contribute certain sections on behalf of Mikami. Some of it was in the final paper, which pleased me, but that was a long time ago.

"I had nothing to do with it, though I would have been honoured to work on such a document."

"A document which complimented U.S. suspicions and hid a multitude of sins rather than tell the truth?"

"The dossier was based on independent research. It was the truth."

"No, it wasn't. I _was _involved in the dossier, you see. I saw the 'research' as you put it, and it was inconclusive at best," he says as he turns a page. I am not talking about Penber.

"I love how you keep these insignificant details to yourself. Instead of telling me things like that, you tell me about the new coffee machine in the House."

"I didn't think it was anything to do with you, but I now see that I was wrong. That little dossier led to the death of Dr Kuroba, a good man. But I suppose that doesn't matter. There's no room for good men in this business."

"You can't believe the rumours that he was offed? I didn't take you for a conspiracy theorist."

"He was killed on the orders of the government, yes. Maybe Penber too. I'll tell you that off the record, of course."

"Goes without saying," I mutter, every syllable covered in barbs. This is politest argument we've ever had and it's almost surreal. There was a time when we didn't fight at all. We've fought more since last night than we have in the last year, actually, but I suppose it was only to be expected that it would come to this. He emphasises his 'usefulness' and holds what I want just out of my reach like a carrot on a stick. I'm not that fucking desperate. "Maybe the press should know about that too?" I suggest, since I can't resist goading him.

"I don't think so," he says. "You don't know exactly what is in the public interest and what isn't, but I do. If we were in opposition then I would say yes, it's very important that the public know about this and other crimes. However, we're not in opposition, so they have no need to know. I'll tell you that for free too. I'll confide in you all these little things which you despise."

"Please don't confide in me then. Listening to you is the equivalent of throwing myself into a septic tank." What he says disgusts me and yet it makes sense. I want him to go and I want him to stay. Instead, I put some distance between us by going to the kitchen to try to put something edible together for breakfast. Toast and... powdered egg? When did I ever buy powdered egg? Was I expecting to be trapped in my apartment for years with only powdered egg to keep me alive?

"Ok. I won't," L shouts over. "Especially since you don't confide in me. You've been a bit slack in the gossip department lately, apart from things which might benefit yourself and yourself only. I'm a bit disappointed in you."

"I tell you everything worth knowing but there's just not much to say at the moment. I don't hear so much since I've been promoted, but feel free to leave at any point. I'm not sure whether you want this gossip for the money or because it proves something to you about who you work for."

"Both, probably. I like these little battles. They're messy and expose the liars, of which there are many, but I escape with no weapon like I've stabbed them with an knife made of ice. Plus, it helps you. There's another reason, and one that you probably won't disapprove of."

"No, but it's not for me, it's for the country."

"You're a beautiful liar," he says to the paper. No, he better not fucking look at me or I'll make a massacre of his face. "You're just an actor really," he continues. "A full-time actor. I wonder if my fascination with you will ever end."

"My fascination with you is ending quite quickly," I reply while I read the instructions for reconstituting powdered egg. This is probably a terrible idea but it's something to keep me occupied when the only other thing I can think of doing is to claw at L's eyes. Said eyes are now looking in my direction.

"And that, my friend, is yet another lie pie," he says. "Two years is a long time. Practically forever. You pretend to hate my underhand methods, but you love everything I do."

It's hardly something that he should be proud of. He either wants me to agree or deny it, and I don't want to do either. Thankfully, there's an impatient knock at the door, which saves me the trouble answering him as he sits waiting and staring at me expectantly. I don't care who it is, they can come in and make me breakfast while they're here. The door is barely open when Sayu bursts in and marches straight past me.

"Come in, Sayu, why don't you?" I say. She doesn't take off her shoes and I fight the urge to throw her out again for that crime alone. Just as I'm about to point out the footprints she's left on my carpet, and the fact that she's wearing a velour tracksuit that she really should set on fire, she turns on the spot with a look of Yagami determination which is pretty frightening to be faced with.

"I want a baby and I want it now," she tells me.

L calls over from the chair while still reading the papers, "As a lawyer, I feel that I need to point out where the law stands on this. The law says go ahead, have a baby with your brother and good luck to you, such is the Japanese legal system. On a personal level I need to point out that any resulting baby will probably have two heads and various genetic problems. Maybe this is an instance where you should ignore the law and think of science."

Sayu screws up her face momentarily before she turns towards him. "Oh, Lawliet-san, I didn't realise you were here," she says.

"No, I didn't realise it either. How did I end up here?" he mutters, looking around the room whil Sayu wanders over to sit opposite him. She doesn't seem to find it strange that he's here, which is comforting, I suppose. I won't have to use that boring 'we're car sharing to a tennis game' excuse, so I go back to the kitchen to try and save my toast from burning while Sayu confronts L with her problems. Rather him than me. I put the egg mess in a pan and hope for the best. God, this cooking thing is too easy. Now I need to put a sweater over my shirt, so I leave everything to look after itself.

"Can I demand a baby?" she asks him.

"Legally speaking?" he replies.

"Yes. It's a husband's obligation, isn't it?"

"Not really, no. Light, what are you doing in there?"

I had not thought to shut the door because I wanted to monitor their conversation and I hadn't anticipated getting my head and arms stuck in my sweater. The neckline is stuck just under my eyes. "I... I can't get it over my head," I confess and walk slightly towards the doorway with my arms above my head.

"Are you stuck?".

"No."

"Ok."

"You look stuck, Light," Sayu points out. Well, yes.

"I'm fine. You carry on." I walk back into the bedroom and try to figure this out. You don't get this problem with suits, so I have learned a life lesson. Just to make everything just that little more excruciating, L has silently come to investigate and is sitting on the bed. "Erm, what are you doing? Piss off," I tell him.

"I'm just going to sit here," he says, and crosses his legs, folding his hands around one knee.

"And watch me?"

"There's nothing on TV and your sister is asking me stupid questions. Do you actually expect to listen to her?" he asks as I start struggling with the sweater in annoyance, swinging from side to side like I'm dancing. "Are you sure you're ok?"

"I think my fucking dry cleaner fucked up my fucking sweater."

"Or maybe you've put on weight while you were on holiday."

"Get out of this room!" I shout, though it's muffled through wool and loses the intended acidity. He doesn't go.

"Are you trying to get in or out of it?"

"Yeah, L, I want to wear this shrunken fucking thing because it'll look amazing. It's just the effect I'm going for. Fuck the _fuck_!" I give up. "Ok. Help."

He duly stands up and tries to evaluate the situation before starting to pull at the sweater in strategic places. "Mmmm... sweater bondage. Wholesome yet... I think I'll leave you like that," he says, taking a step back. I start struggling again and he's just lucky that my arms are restrained. "Ok, ok, stop flailing like a crazy matador, I'll help you. Why did you think that you could fit into this in the first place."

"I was listening to you."

"And so you should because look what happens when you do. Oooh, hello! Your hair is an absolute mess. I'm just warning you, you should psych yourself up before you look in the mirror because you might have a panic attack." Obviously the first thing I do is look in the mirror, and it's not good, no. As I survey the damage, L starts making it worse.

"Don't touch my hair! Anyway, what is Sayu doing here?" I ask, trying to flatten my hair as I walk back into the living room. "I hope that you haven't mistaken my apartment for a restaurant, Sayu. If you want breakfast then you'll have to go somewhere else. Actually, just go somewhere else anyway. Do you want eggs with your toast, L?"

"You haven't eaten yet?" Sayu asks. "It's after nine."

"Eggs. Yes," L replies, sits, and shakes out his paper again while Sayu turns back to him for answers to this all-consuming issue.

"So there's nothing I can do?" she whines.

"I hear that turkey basters have come on in leaps and bounds in recent years," he says.

"Ewwwwww... I can't have sex with a turkey baster! Light, tell him!"

"She can't have sex with a turkey baster, L. It's unhygienic for a start. There are places that a turkey baster shouldn't venture and my sister is one of those places."

"How do you get the stuff to go in the turkey baster anyway? How does it work?" Sayu asks, completely confounded.

"Oh Lord," L sighs and makes a quick getaway, walking in the direction of the bathroom. Sayu turns to look at me as if I'll answer her question in his stead.

"Maybe you should speak to Touta about this?" I suggest.

"I have. He says we still can't afford one. He hasn't been promoted for two years and there wasn't even much of wage increase last time; no bonuses or anything. He's useless, Light, and I'll be too old soon. My biological clock is going insane!"

"Sayu, you're twenty five."

"Exactly!"

"I don't think you have to worry too much right now. Look, I'm really sorry but I want to eat my breakfast without talking to you about artificial insemination using turkey basters. This is not a good time. We're going to play tennis after this so, y'know, do you mind?"

"Why aren't you supporting me? This is a serious issue for me and you don't care. Nobody cares."

"I do care." There should be something green on the eggs. I know this because I saw a cookery programme once when I was ill and the remote was too far away for me to change the channel. There's always green on the eggs, chives or cress or fuck knows. I don't have anything green apart from the rind on my French cheese. Shit. I take the plates in as they are and the eggs are rubbery and still powdery as anything. This is a complete disaster.

"It's alright for you," Sayu moans. "Men can have children into their eighties, women can't."

"We're not still talking about turkey basters are we?" L asks on his return, picking up his plate.

"No, Sayu was just leaving."

"I wasn't," she says, reaching forward to take a slice of my toast while my knife and fork hover over the plate. She speaks through a mouthful of eggy bread, pebbledashing my carpet. "Tell me how this turkey baster thing works, Lawliet-san."

"I'm not an expert. I suggest that you google it. I'm sure that there's a step by step guide somewhere."

"No, Sayu, don't start googling turkey basters. What you need is to speak to Touta in a reasonable way and listen to him. Look over your finances and try and be logical about this. You can get a job and save some money maybe, be proactive. Touta's just being sensible."

"You're always on his side. You could give us the money. Why don't you give us the money?" She latches onto this idea with horrifying aggression. When there's another knock on the door, I leap up to answer it. It's Touta. Great.

"Hey, Light, how was your trip? Is Sayu here? Sayu!" Touta exclaims, walking past me. I go back to my breakfast. L and I sit in silence as if there isn't a marital dispute going on in front of us. It's almost nice to have someone else argue instead.

"I don't want to talk to you right now!" Sayu shouts. Touta looks desperate. The man needs to grow a spine.

"But Sayu... Oh, hi, Lawliet-san!" he says when he notices L, who lifts his fork in reply. "Sayu, please, you can't go running off like that," Touta continues. "Can't we talk about this?"

"No, you said point blank no," she rages. "All the no's. All I ever hear from you is no and I'm sick of it!"

"Baby, please -"

"That's just it! I want a BABY!"

"This needs something..." I muse, pointing at my substandard breakfast.

"Paprika," L states. "Or to be put through the waste disposal."

I jump up and run to the kitchen. "Yes! Hold on, I have that spice rack that that bastard from Culture gave me," I call back while poor Touta fails to appease Sayu by pointing out her insanity.

"Sayu, you can't just come here and interrupt Light's breakfast with Lawliet-san. Let's talk about it back home."

"It's perfectly alright, really. I can hardly hear you if I chew loudly enough," L tells him.

Sayu crosses her arms and Touta visibly winces at the action. "I'm not coming home. I'm staying here," she says.

"Oh no, Sayu, you're going home. Touta, take her away," I demand on my way back with the paprika. "How much paprika do you put on?" I ask L. He looks at the label.

"You've got the strong type. It depends whether you want the experience of giving a blow job to a man who's dipped his dick in wasabi or if you want your head blown off entirely."

"Neither really."

Touta apologises as I sprinkle an uncertain amount of paprika on the eggs. "I'm really sorry about this Light."

"Don't worry about it, just go."

"Light, I came here looking for sanctuary," Sayu cries in a high, distraught pitch.

"I've haven't got anywhere to put you, Sayu."

"You have a guest room."

"I made it into an office."

"I'll sleep on the sofa."

"No you won't. You'll go home and sort out your problems with Touta and leave me alone. Fuck! What is this shit?" I ask. The eggs are now like a burning pit of hell.

"Too much?" L asks, apparently unaffected.

"This was the worst idea you've ever had. Let's go to that Italian bistro instead. Ok, you two," I say, turning to Sayu and Touta, "We're going, so you are too."

"Light -" Sayu starts but I physically push them out and shut the door. God.

"Sayo-fucking-nara. Your family is deranged," L tells me. "I hope you don't mind me saying that. I wonder who's going to turn up next, the touring cast of _The Phantom of the Opera_? So, you're going to be an uncle? I'd laugh but I don't think that I'd ever stop."

"No."

"Now, Light, I think you have some lingering misconception that men have some input besides the obvious. What wives want, they will surely get. He'll crack or she'll catch him in a moment of weakness."

"No, no," I say. "Well, maybe, but look at all the fucks I give. I want frittata."

"Then frittata you shall have."

* * *

"Bitches!"

L and I both turn around and sigh simultaneously as Jeevas approaches. I have no idea what he's wearing but it looks like fake fur over his suit, like he's skinned a mammoth.

"What are you doing here, Jeevas?" I ask. He lights up a fat cigarette even though we're inside and he's blowing smoke directly into the face of a toddler who's dangling over her father's shoulder in front of us.

"I thought that I'd try this place before work. I'll have a tall macchiato and a bag of those jammy things Lawliet's got there," he tells me. My eyes widen at his audacity but somehow I can't be bothered to argue. It's not good in this situation, not now, so I add them to the order and hand them my card. "So, have you two been playing tennis?" he asks with a knowing grin.

"No, we just happen to be here at the same time," I answer moodily.

"Oh, I see. Coincidence is a beautiful thing sometimes. Serendipity, you could call it."

"Jeevas?" L asks, turning to him with lazy eyes.

"Yes?"

"Please leave."

"Ha! Oh, Lawliet, mate, you're a funny man and that's the truth. I'll get us a table," he says, ruffling L's hair, making him flinch at the touch like he's been given a nasty jolt by a live wire. As Jeevas wanders off to commandeer a table by the window, L and I look at each other sadly.

"Tell him to piss off," L begs. He's a broken man.

"I can't bring myself to care if he stays or not right now."

"Let's run then. Let's just run for our lives."

"I thought that you'd appreciate some old fashioned banter with an idiot -" I stop abruptly to beam a smile as a woman with yet another baby walks towards me. "Minister Yagami, I'm so pleased to meet you," she says. "My husband and I think that you're a credit to the government and we need more people like you to..." and on she goes. She takes a photo on her phone as I coo appropriately and even hold the baby. I note with some thankfulness that it doesn't seem to have shat itself because, apart from being repulsive, I'm also wearing a particularly expensive Ozwald Boateng suit. A small crowd gathers, spurred on by this woman's bravery, each wanting to tell me how fantastic I am. By the time this is over, I see that L has taken the tray and himself and has sat at a totally different table to Jeevas, who still appears to be waiting for us to arrive. I sit with L. Unfortunately, a few minutes later, Jeevas realises and plonks himself next to me.

"I had a nice table there," he complains.

"Go back to it then," L mutters, stirring sugar into his coffee. "I'm sure that it misses you."

"I get the feeling that you don't like me very much, Lawliet."

"What gave you that idea?"

"Oh, I dunno," he says, and takes one of L's cakes. This was the most unwise move he could have made.

"Get your fucking hands off my fucking cake and get the fuck away from this fucking table!" L shouts. People turn to look at us and I smile at them all before attempting to ease his wrath, or at least lower his voice and stop swearing. There are children everywhere and they've all learned a brand new word. It's like a crèche in here, the little bastards.

"L -"

"No," he interrupts. "How am I supposed to have my coffee and cake in any semblance of the peace and tranquility which is necessary for me to start the day well, if this _thing _is sitting next to me and stealing my fucking cakes? This is just unacceptable. I'm going to call the police because you've stolen my cake. I am going to take you to court and wring you out to dry. You'll be cleaning toilets on the bowel ward at the hospital until the end of time. And even after you're dead, because by GOD I will outlive you, I will still be claiming compensation from any unfortunate offspring you might sire. Now fuck off, you thieving degenerate."

Jeevas blinks. "You speak way, way too much."

"Do I utilise too many words for you? Shall I try and keep them under four characters in length?"

"You mother was shagged by a dictionary and you're the result."

"Jeevas, don't speak to him like that. You're -" I try, but am cut off again.

"I'm ok, Light, thanks," L tells me. "I have coping strategies for this type of confrontation. It's called not giving a shit."

Jeevas' hackles rise at this and he straightens in his chair, which seems to take some effort. "What's with all this informality between you two?" he asks. "Bloody coffee and cakes and fucking... what is that, frittata? Tennis all hours of the day. It's like you're married or something."

"Yes, Jeevas, the baby is due in April," L says. "This changes nothing, you can still get the hell out of my airspace."

"I knew it! You're totally buggering the living daylights out of each other, aren't you?"

"I'M GOING TO SUE YOU FOR SLANDER!"

"L, calm down and have his cake instead," I demand. "Jeevas, I'd go if I were you. This is very bad for my public image and -"

"I'm going to have you executed by firing squad," L interrupts again, practically spitting into Jeevas' face. "I'm going to change the law just so I can shoot you, hang you, put you in the gas chamber, and chop your fucking head off."

"You sound like a girl," Jeevas says. "You're a girl with a dick."

"That's it. I'm going to -"

"Please go, Jeevas," I repeat slowly so he can understand. He pushes his chair away with a noisy squeak against the linoleum.

"And you! You're always a bastard," he says accusingly at me as if I've let the side down.

"I resent that. I've been nothing but nice to you at the expense of much personal suffering."

"Jesus, you're both irritable. Bloody poofs," he mumbles before walking away. L stands and shouts after him.

"I'M GOING TO SUE YOU FOR DISCRIMINATION AND FOR BEING A FUCKWIT! IT'S MY DUTY TO THE WORLD TO DESTROY YOU!"

"L, sit down and eat your cake," I say, smiling at the onlookers again like it's a wonderful set piece of entertainment.

"He's the most odious shit stain. I enjoyed that. Oh, and he left his cake. This all worked out beautifully!"

"I'm glad you think so."

"You're very calm. You're like one of those meditating idiots who float."

"I'm in public, otherwise I would have been shouting just as loud as you. Well, maybe not quite as loud as you, but I would have conveyed my general displeasure at his existence. He's an awful person, you just have to try and forget that he was born. It's taken me a few years but I've reached that Nirvana. When he turns up it's just like a bad acid trip to me."

"I'm really very taken with you," L says, his smile falls when I smile at him though. "Sometimes it just hits me while simultaneously hating everything about you."

"Yeah. Hey, do you want a lemon tree?"

"Erm... I wasn't expecting that."

"I was given one from the Spanish ambassador's wife. Fuck knows what she thought I'd do with it. You have a garden. You have it."

"Just what I've always wanted."

"It's in my office, just take it away."

"I don't really want it, Light. I'm busy tonight, by the way. Not that it would really make any difference to you. We've already established that you barely notice if I'm there or not."

"Ok," I reply. My lack of interest annoys him.

"Takada's family are holding a memorial. With wine. Should be wonderful. Hopefully everyone will be falling around crying before the end."

"Oh, I'm going to that."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? You always did love to observe devastation."

"I was invited to observe the devastation actually."

* * *

It's a nice evening and I'm wearing a nice suit. I arrive a little bit late because that's what important people do, and I find that L has already immersed himself in the wine selection. I try to avoid him and immerse myself in some social networking as this is like a zoo for that sort of thing, but he obviously has nothing else in his life but to make my life a misery. He laughs inappropriately at things I say to other ministers, forcing me to include him in the dishwater conversations. There was an awkward moment when I was pulled aside by an aide who I had an affair with years ago when I was interning. I didn't realise that he was still alive. What on earth was I thinking? He'll have to go. Eventually I give up and settle for standing in the corner with L and Touta.

"What is this place?" Touta asks. He's in awe of the strange mix of traditional Japanese simplicity and grandiose baroque detailing.

"God knows," L says. "I have no idea how I got here. I thought that this was a bath house."

"Who's that?" I ask, tipping my glass towards a woman who's talking to Naomi and Jeevas. I know her but can't remember exactly where from. Her face keeps being obscured by sycophants in suits walking in front of her and L has to lean slightly to one side to see who I'm referring to.

"Takada's daughter," he answers. "This is just a debutante's ball to her, which is in quite bad taste considering that it's supposed to be a memorial for her father, don't you think?"

She's noticed us and is making her way over in her kimono and tightly wrapped obi, stuttering on her heels. In my mind I scan through faces and find her; she was year or so below me at university. I never put the name and face together at the time.

"Welcome," she says as she reaches us. Touta does a quick bow.

"No, than-"

"Thank you for inviting us," I say, taking over from Touta. She focuses her laser beams on me. Everyone might as well disappear.

"You're Light Yagami."

"Yes, I'm pleased to meet you, Takada-san. Your father was an inspiration to me."

"You don't remember me, do you? We were at To-Oh at the same time. Different classes."

"I remember. Miss To-Oh, right?"

"Oh, don't! It's so embarrassing." She doesn't look in the least embarrassed. She touches her face self-consciously and smiles, but she's thrilled to be reminded of her greatest achievement in life.

"You have no reason to be embarrassed," I smile back. L laughs into his wine glass and walks off.

"Um... Yagami-san, can I talk to you in private?" she asks, gesturing towards an open door which leads onto a balcony, partially illuminated by the lanterns in the garden below. She doesn't even wait for an answer before she makes her way towards the door, expecting me to follow, which I do after raising my eyebrows at Touta.

Her breath mists up the glass of the door from the effort of closing it behind us. "Sorry, it's just that I'm sick of these people. They listen in on everything," she says, walking towards me.

"That's politicians for you," I agree.

"I hate them." You and me both, darling. It makes me laugh.

"Not all of them are as bad as you think," I say, taking a sip of my wine.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean you. At least, I think you're a good man. You couldn't say the things you did about my father if you weren't. That's what I need to talk to you about. I heard what you said the day he died - it was beautiful. I just wanted to thank you."

That's understandable. Her father received some of the most glorious words I've ever strung together. It set the precedent for public feeling since no one was sure whether they should care or not. He had mellowed with age to a certain level of incompetence, but in his day he'd been quite a firebrand for the people. A line from my speech had been engraved on his tombstone. 'From the good men of this earth, the phoenix rises, and will never die.' I bow my head and when my eyes meet hers again I find gratefulness there, truly felt. She obviously likes a mix of powerful domination, a good reputation, a nice face, and a good job, otherwise she wouldn't give you the time of day. Add that to a degree of vulnerability and sensitivity, someone who needs a Lady Macbeth, and it's a done deal for her. I'm aware that I'm being weighed up, although she'd probably decided on me a long time ago. I admire her patience and choose not to disappoint her, so I play more on my vulnerability by sadly turning towards the dark view of Mount Edo. "It was nothing," I dismiss as I lean on the rail overlooking the garden. "We'd only heard the news a few minutes before so I was shocked when the press approached me. I just said what I was feeling. Someone else could have made a better, more eloquent tribute." Ha. Could they fuck.

"You shouldn't put yourself down like that," she tells me, touching my arm delicately. "I know all the people in there and you're the only good man here."

"I don't know, sometimes I wonder. Politics seems to steal your soul. When I came in I had so many dreams, but they seem unattainable sometimes. I believed that they were all possible when your father was alive."

Out of the corner of my eye I see her look downwards briefly. "Don't say that," she says. "It's still possible. Really, I... I admire you. I know you can do so many great things for Japan. I believe in you." I turn to see her profile looking at the same view of the night-touched mountain. The breeze twists her hair out of its tight knot, letting it whisper around her face.

"I take it that I have your vote then?" I laugh while she smiles shyly.

"You're the only person in politics who's worth anything. I was thinking of running for a seat myself but father was dead against it." Oh. Poor little rich girl under her daddy's thumb. Basic knowledge of politics and what to expect from someone at the top. Ideal really.

"He probably wanted to protect you, though we desperately need some intelligent female politicians."

"I used to help him with some of his work sometimes," she says. "Just organising mostly, typing out notes, but I felt like I was helping. It's a gift really, to be chosen by the people to represent them and do things in their best interests, even if they don't understand it at the time. You can make such a difference. Yes, that's exactly what it is. It's a gift. It's almost god-like. I hope that I don't offend you."

"Why should what you said offend me?"

"Um... Yagami-san?"

"Please, call me Light."

"Light. I always loved your name. I'm sorry, I don't mean to embarrass you."

"Ha! Thanks. I'm not sure what my mother was thinking when she chose it."

"I do. It suits you."

"Well, it's very useful for publicity and slogans for campaigns."

"Light, I was wondering if there's any way that I could help you? At your department, I mean."

"I'd be honoured. Really, that's very kind of you, Kiyomi."

"You do remember me!" she exclaims.

"You're not easy to forget."

"Oh, I don't know about that -"

"Now who's being self-depreciating? So, what have you been doing since university? It seems a long time ago now, doesn't it?"

"I majored in journalism and worked for a few national papers but it's difficult to break into the industry unless you're willing to start from bottom. I was too arrogant for that at the time, so I went abroad for a few years and worked in PR for a charity."

"I'm sure I can find a spot for you then," I tell her. I'm going to sack my secretary tomorrow.

"Anything, really. If you need a tea lady then I make a really good cup of tea," she laughs. I laugh.

"We can do better than that. It's hard to find someone that I can trust to be part of my team. You'd be perfect."

"This is the easiest job interview I've ever had! We should discuss it sometime."

"I know a good thing when I see it and I don't like wasting time," I admit, pulling away from the railing. "I better go, Kiyomi. I'll call you here tomorrow, is that alright? People will talk if I keep you here too long and I have an early meeting tomorrow."

"And Prime Minister's Questions in the House," she says.

"Yes. I'm sorry, of course you've been through all this with your father."

"I understand the hours that you have to put in." She leans back on the railing to watch me leave. A few feet away from her, I turn as if hit by some wonderful idea.

"Actually, do you like opera?

"No."

"That's good, neither do I. What about dinner?" She shakes her head and smiles broadly before catching herself, amending her expression to a slight upturned mouth of demure interest. "Ok. What do you like?" I ask. "You make it very difficult for a man. Maybe this is why I never spoke to you at university."

"Pick me up at eight tomorrow night," she says. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."

I nod with amusement and take a card out of my pocket. "This is my private number. I'll be here at eight."

"I'll look forward to it," she says, closing the gap between us and takes the business card lazily while staring into my eyes. Moments pass. What does she expect me to do?

"I better go," I repeat.

"People will talk," she smiles.

"I'm glad we met again."

"We never did meet. You ignored me at To-Oh."

"Did I?"

"Well, you never spoke to me."

"That was very stupid of me. I'm sorry, but I think the loss was all mine."

"Maybe. But you remember me now, and that's what counts. We can put all of it right."

"I like second chances," I say and breathe out an appreciative laugh in the stillness.

"What?" she asks

"I was just thinking that you're even more beautiful than you were at To-Oh."

"Now you're embarrassing me again."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. It's weird, but I don't mind when you say things like that. I'll come in with you."

"No, you stay there. I'd like to remember you this way," I say. God, she's such a sap for this sort of thing, it's all over her face. I step back a few paces to give her the impression that I'm taking a kodak memory, and then leave her on the balcony. People turn towards me at the sound of rushing air when I open the door, and they stare for a little too long as I walk straight towards the wine table.

"What was that?" L demands as he drifts up beside me like a drunk thundercloud.

"Hmmm?"

"That," he says, pointing to Kiyomi as she enters the room again. Naomi pounces on her and they dip their heads like conspiritors while they walk to the opposite corner of the room. Jeevas joins them, hovering behind Naomi.

"What, Takada's daughter? She just wanted to thank me," I explain and head towards the coat stand after leaving my empty glass on the table, but he's not letting me make an easy getaway.

"Why, what have you done for her lately?" he asks.

"My speech after her father died, L. You've had too much to drink."

"Poor bitch, if only she knew. While I slowly pickle myself, why don't you carry on schmoozing? It's obviously one of your many talents," he babbles. "Chat up everyone in the room, like it makes any difference to me. It's all for show, I know that you're mine."

He's speaking far too loudly and openly so I grasp hold of his arm and pull him close so he can hear my whisper. "Why don't you just piss on my leg then, you bastard. You're acting like a dog claiming his territory, following me around. I'm not yours and I'll do what I fucking well want, so fuck off." I let him go and wait for the reply or for a fist to come back at me, but we both notice Jeevas rushing across the room towards us.

"Yagami and Kiyomi sitting in a fucking tree, eh?" he says breathlessly, leaning on L's shoulder, who shrugs him off immediately. "There's a turn up for the books. You should hear her talking to Naomi. Jesus, what did you do to her out there? Are you like a car wash of cunnilingus?"

"Jeevas, you've got something on your face," L says, pointing at Jeevas' face with concern.

"What? Where?"

"There, hold on... no, I'm sorry. There's semen leaking out of your mouth and it's just all over your face. I think you need to put some cotton wool in there."

"You're hilarious. You're also pissed, so I'll let you off this time."

"You really don't want to upset me, Jeevas," L tells him. "Light will tell you that that's really not a good idea unless you want to reenact the final stages of the Battle of Thermopylae."

"I'm done here," I sigh, and reach for my coat. L turns quickly back to me, holding his glass at such an acute angle that he spills what little content which remains onto the floor.

"You're leaving?" he asks.

"I'm not staying here to fight with you, no. I'm a lover, not a fighter."

Jeevas suddenly makes some sort of body rolling action as he raps ineffectually in some Jamaican drawl, "Mr Lover lover! She call me Mr Boombastic, say me fantastic, touch me in me back, she say I'm Mr Ro...whoa..."

L stares at him blankly. "You are missing some chromosomes, you know that?"

"We all know that. _You_. Get a taxi," I say, pointing into L's face. "You're not fit to drive."

"I don't think I need you to tell me what I'm fit for, thank you very much," he mutters while trying to drink from an empty glass.

"Fine, crash into a wall."

He watches me put on my coat for a second, then spies a waiter and takes a drink from his tray. "I might just do that," he smiles and raises this glass towards my scowl in a silent kanpai.

"See, if I was still in Transport, that would actually be a concern of mine. Especially if you damage our public highways and cause disruption, which you definitely would."

"That's so heartwarming. You're not in Transport now though, so you don't have to worry."

"L, get your coat. I'm your designated driver."

"I do hope that that's another of your stunning innuendoes," he replies, "because if it's not then I'm not interested. The crash barrier sounds more and more appealing."

Touta is now standing alongside L and looking me up and down with distress as I fish out my keys from my coat pocket. "You're not really going are you, Light?" he asks. "It's still early."

Jeevas laughs to himself. "He came, he saw, he made Takada's daughter come in her pants." Touta looks confused. I need someone to be mentally alert enough to drive L home.

"Touta, L's pissed so can you drive him back?" I ask.

"I am not pissed, you disgusting little shit!"

"It's my civic duty to make sure that you don't cause a pile up. Other than that, I don't care what you do. Touta, will you drop him off then?"

"I don't need dropping off anywhere by anyone," L continues to argue against blatant facts like a true lawyer. It's in his blood. His father's a judge. He was probably born with 'bloodsucking bastard' etched into his skull.

"I'll make sure he gets back ok, Light," Touta says.

"Brilliant," I exclaim as I walk away. "That's my good deed for the day then."

"Don't crash, cockbag!" L shouts after me.

* * *

Kiyomi is leaving my apartment as L turns up. He must have smelled a rat after a few days of avoidance. He stares, I stare, Kiyomi blushes. It seems like a Mexican standoff until Kiyomi squeezes past L and escapes down the hall. L watches her leave before turning back to me.

"Good choice," he says as he pushes past me. I close the door sadly after picking up my newspaper delivery which has been unceremoniously dumped outside again. I'll have to have a strong word with someone about this. "Takada's daughter," L continues. "It's almost as if you have the government's seal of approval. You really _are_ a fast worker, aren't you? Have you set a date yet?" I ignore the question and leave him standing in the middle of the room while I walk off with my papers. "Aren't you going to say anything?" he asks.

"I'm not in the mood to make up excuses for you," I tell him.

"Oh, that's a shame. I was looking forward to hearing them. You said that you were busy last night, I just didn't realise exactly how busy. Put down those fucking papers!" he says, knocking them out of my hand. "There's nothing in there about you if that's what you're wondering."

"What do you expect me to say?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

"I expect nothing."

"But you want everything."

"I want you to tell me something or I can't do this anymore. Especially now. What the _hell_ are you doing with that woman?"

"Guess. Look, I don't do demands and needy begging for affection just to validate what you might feel. If I tell you what you want to hear then it'll be hollow. It'll change everything and mean nothing. Let's not get confused about this situation we have; we're two grown men, she stayed the night, get over yourself. And that's all I have to say."

"Don't be so fucking patronising."

"I'm not, I'm just pointing out how ridiculous you are. Now that I've done that, make you mind up whether you're staying or going because you're being a complete and utter cunt," I say as I crouch to pick up the papers he's knocked into a crumpled pile on the floor. "Barging into my flat and... look at my papers. Twat."

"You're making plans for Mrs Yagami when you love me, and you're calling _me_ ridiculous?"

I stand and throw the papers back onto the floor. This is just a joke. "When did I say that I loved you?" I ask incredulously.

"I know that you do."

"Ha! God, you're completely deluded."

This wasn't the best thing for me to say. I'm not insensitive. If the situation was different then... well, it probably wouldn't have happened. But as it is, I'm not going to apologise for wise business decisions that he should understand. He doesn't understand though, he launches at me, pushing me into the wall instead. "Say it," he says.

"Words are meaningless."

"No they're not. I need to hear it."

"Love isn't just one emotion, it's many things."

"Like?"

"Hate and Death. Lots of things."

"You think that's what love is?"

"I know it is. It doesn't mean anything unless it hurts," I say, and watch his eyes widen. The thought obviously hadn't entered his head that something couldn't be easily defined by one word in a book. It amazes me that he thinks that if I say a few words then it will make everything a wonderful one way ticket to sharing a duvet and a mortgage. He has no idea what I'm talking about.

"And this hurts?" he asks.

"Yes. You're holding me by the throat."

"You are really fucked up," he tells me, his face twisting with disbelief. "You can't live like this. You can't marry her."

"I can if I want to," I laugh. "Bit early for that though, isn't it? But yeah, I might marry her. Why not? She'd look good on the front page, don't you think? You're the PR man; you tell me. And what does the law say about this, L? I think it says that I could press charges against you."

"You're sick."

"_I'm_ sick now? I'm not the one who's assaulting someone in their own fucking home. You think that I need saving and that you can fix me? God, you're arrogant. Get off me." He loosens his grip around my throat and I quickly pull myself away from him. Just to emphasise how much I don't care for any of this bollocks, I straighten out one of the newspapers and glance over it while I button up my shirt with my free hand. "What?" I ask when I turn and realise that he's standing behind me. Why can't he just leave?

"You don't feel anything?" he asks.

"No. I feel nothing."

Then he punches me. I lose my balance and fall heavily, smacking my head against the floor. My anger is too much as I try to raise myself quickly and search for him, only to find him in the same place once my vision clears. The room is shaking. Either the room is shaking or I am.

"You hit me! What the fuck?" I shout, rubbing at the consuming feeling at the back of my head which hurts only slightly more than the exploding extravaganza of pain below my eye.

"It was very satisfying. Wow," he gasps, looking down on me while opening and clenching the hand he punched me with.

"Bastard," I hiss in return, but smile with the violence as he walks towards me.

"And that's you saying that, so I really must be a bastard."

"Come here then. Do it again," I say and reach for his legs to drag myself to kneel in front of him with my hands on his waist. Even making that small movement makes me dizzy. He looks sad as he kneels down to be on a level with me. "Do it. I want you to. I can't give you what you want, so hit me."

"You must have really banged you head," he says, scrutinising where he punched me. "You _want_ me to hit you?"

I don't know. I don't know what I'm thinking or what I'm saying. No one has ever hit me before and I'm impressed that he has and is so unapologetic for it. A good fight might do us both the world of good instead of throwing insults at each other. I realise that I've drawn away from him over the last few weeks, possibly always, so I can avoid feeling anything. I just want him near me. He makes me feel everything. I want him out of my system and maybe this is a good way to go about it.

"You make me die a little bit every time and I want to feel it afterwards," I say quietly. "I want something that shows that you've been here." That's the closest he's ever going to get. Maybe he realises that. I'm sure that he's going to kiss me and erase Kiyomi and her fucking perfume, but he just brushes my hair back with one hand.

"That won't look very good for the photos."

"I'll tell them that I was mugged by a very angry man," I whisper back.

"What's happened to you? Why do you want me to hurt you? I could, you know," he says, like I should be scared of him. Yeah, like could really hurt me. He wouldn't know where to start.

"Do it," I tell him angrily. I steel myself for it, seeing all the hate and disgust and confusion on his face at what I've just said. He suddenly grasps me to his chest like I'm a child and... I think that I could die here, that would be fine.

"Don't say that. I could never do that to you," he says into my hair. Pulling away, he looks in my eyes like he's checking something. "You're so selfish and I've given you a lot of time. All I've asked for is for you to give me one simple thing. Now you're fucking around with Takada's daughter. Why?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

"It does to me. You want me to tear down the country for you and then you do things like this. Everything you do is only for yourself."

"You do the same thing. We're all in it for ourselves."

"No, not with you," he says, shaking his head as if by doing so he'll replace the truth with the lie he believes.

"Liar."

"Maybe I was at first, but not now. And I don't know how you can think that way. What are you doing? Takada's daughter, all this love and death and hate. Think about it."

"I do nothing but think. Love and death are the same thing; we kill for love, we love the dead, and we're always so close to it. And you're so temporary. You could die any second."

"Jesus, Light," he breathes. I kiss the corner of his mouth and lift my hands around his back, and he's so tense within my arms.

"Don't pretend that you don't understand. I know that you do, you're mine. In my head and in my veins and all around me."

"Yes. Say it," he sighs and I laugh wearily, like my lungs are empty. He always asks for too much from me. I'm showing him aren't I? I'm telling him, aren't I? My lips drift lazily over his and my tongue fights its way inside his mouth. He lets me at first, but then he pulls away.

"Stop messing around with me."

"Just tell me, Light! Say the fucking words!" he shouts back.

I really don't know. I feel nothing and everything at the same time, and I don't want to lie to him and tell him something I'm not even sure is right. This is all his fault for turning up and seeing something he didn't have to see. He knew; he came here specifically to guilt trip me into kneeling on the floor like a disciple. Forgive me, forgive me... for what? He doesn't even deserve the lie of love. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction.

"I suppose that you'll have to fuck it out of me then. It's round two for me. Go for it and good luck."

"You're on your own now," he says, standing. Oh, what a missed opportunity. "Shaft The Lady yourself and shaft Takada's daughter while you're at it, but you don't touch me. I'll have the press pack on you before you can even raise your hand."

"You'll regret this!" I yell after him as he slams the door behind him. It's all he's good for, slamming doors in my face. He will fucking regret this.


	7. The Libertine

**A/N **Ok, I lied about the no updates until December. My Sundays are writing days now. I've cancelled life.

Lots and lots of thanks to **thebarstool** who read over the weird, rambling, interior design porn, psychological non-smut for quality control. Please do not get excited and don't blame her if the end scene is shite. I can't even tell anymore, but it definitely was at one point. She's very nice and excellent quality control, being literary and such, and her suggestions were and are invaluable. She probably just didn't want me to do something drastic with a lamp cord. Thank you, Ms Bar Stool for making it considerably less painful for me. I sent her this version this morning as a second draft for her to read over (with massive errors in), but then I realised that I wouldn't have a chance to do anything for the next few weeks anyway, so I'm just doing this 'post it now, fix it later' thing. I redacted important spoilers from what I sent her and I think she deserves to know what they are. Here you go. Here is shit hitting the fan. Just explaining all that because she has not approved of this version, so it's probably awful, and I wish that I had her comments before I posted it.

Mihael for **FreezeDryedGorgeous **Hurrah!

(Another public message to thebarstool - I edited out the shout out to 'Cure' but there's at least one in there still, I think.) Very, very sorry for all this blah.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**The Libertine**

* * *

"Oh, Kiyomi! It's beautiful!" Sayu screeches excitedly. I almost feel the chandeliers and wine glasses tremble from the pitch of her voice.

"Fucking hell, is that real?"

"Touta," Sayu says, chastising him for his rare expletive laden outburst.

As we hurtle towards or through our thirties, we've unconsciously decided to be people who have dinners as couples with the token single person so that we seem inclusive. The single person can remind us of all the life we're missing out on, since we've chosen eternal happiness and domesticity instead. We are legion, and many places have opened to accommodate people like us. Not quite bars, not quite clubs, not quite restaurants, not quite our living rooms, but somewhere in between. We're too old for neon lights and bass sounds which are so loud that we can't hear ourselves speak, and too young and privileged for dinner on our laps and an early night. We sit snugly and smugly, congratulating ourselves on our comfortable situations. With life partners found and decent careers achieved, it's all sorted for the rest of our lives. We might as well book our holidays on cruise ships.

Kiyomi is showing off her engagement ring. I bought it from Cartier's while I was in Paris on business, and at a decent discount, actually. This is the ring's first public outing, after Kiyomi wearing a temporary 'promise' ring until I found something more appropriate. This ring is more appropriate. What I particularly like is that Kiyomi is teaming it with matching nails at the moment. She's actually dressing entirely around the ring and I genuinely admire her attention to detail. Unless she suddenly changes after the wedding, I doubt that we'll ever fall out over anything. What a calm sea is before me.

"What kind of rock is that?" Jeevas asks, trying not to be interested. Naomi is trying as well, but she looks miserable. It does knock poor Jeevas' effort for her out of the park. Sorry, Naomi, but you should have held out. Kiyomi's eyes light up at Jeevas' question and she gazes at the ring in admiration.

"It's a pink diamond," she tells him.

"Pink? That's a bit gay, isn't it, Yagami?"

"It's graded as light pink champagne, actually. It was the most expensive," I explain. It was. A 6.1 carat diamond surrounded by bands of white diamonds in a vintage setting. It _was_ very expensive but I came to a good arrangement with the manager of Cartier's, and I practically stole it. In retrospect, it might be a little ostentatious, but Kiyomi would have very upset with anything less. She took a few days to get used to the weight of it on her hand, and takes it off when she weighs herself as she likes to believe that it would knock her over another pound and make her depressed.

"Only the best," Kiyomi smiles at me. This is our private catchphrase nowadays.

"Only the very best," I agree. While glancing over the room as I drink my wine, I spot L with three suits at the bar. It's only a matter of time until he comes over to verbally assault us, and I'm very much looking forward to it. We haven't spoken for three months, although he deliberately walked into my back when I was standing precariously close to the edge on the top step of the House a while ago, and I saw that as an assassination attempt. I realised after two weeks that he wasn't going to drop The Lady in it, so I changed my plan and concentrated on Kiyomi, strangely. Didn't really want to drag that out, because a storm of shit is going to hit the fan soon and I need Kiyomi in place in a conservative dress and fuck me shoes. But L, yes. I light a cigarette in preparation and Kiyomi slaps my arm. We've already discussed how I'll have to cut this out.

As expected, L arrives at the table like a follow-up angel with news that there's been a mistake, Mary is not going to give birth to the Messiah. He's wearing a grey suit and I very much approve of that. It's actually quite well-tailored.

"Oh, Lawliet, how not very nice to see you," Jeevas says.

"Likewise," he replies. Not even Touta can appear to be pleased to see him, but he's just so painfully nice that he can't be honest.

"Take a seat," he tells him.

"Thanks, I only came over to tell Mihael how disappointed I am in the company he keeps," he says, sitting and turning to his employee. "Mihael, I'm disappointed in you. There. I said it."

"This is his off-time. He can see and do whatever and whoever he wants," Jeevas points out with a mischievous smile which Mihael returns.

"I own him," L argues calmly. "So no, he can't."

Mihael mistakenly tries to pacify L by pointing out the reason he's so angry in the first place. "L, we're just having dinner," he says, "Look, Yagami's here."

"That's exactly my point."

I raise my eyebrows and relax back in my chair. The amusement is probably clear on my face but everyone else looks either confused or offended on my behalf.

"Have I missed something? Have you taken your friendship bracelets off?" Jeevas asks. "You've fallen out?"

"No, of course not," I say, blowing some smoke into the air. I'd like to think that I look like a man who'll smile and offer a glass of wine before he shoots you. "L's sense of humour is... interesting. He's just joking. He loves me really."

"If only that were true," L mutters and dusts off some imaginary fluff from his trouser leg. It's at this point that Kiyomi decides to make herself known as part of Light Yagami Inc. She reaches forwards with her bejewelled hand to shake his in some culturally aware move which may backfire.

"Lawliet-san, I'm pleased to meet you. Light's only had good things to say about you. I'm Kiyomi Takada," she says, mustering all of her charm. It would probably take out a lesser man, but L's not vaguely interested in her charm or her hand.

"I remember you well," he says, crossing his arms. "You were leaving Light's apartment one morning after your debriefing. Of course, I could have mixed you up with another person entirely since Light debriefs a lot of people. Urgh! What the fuck is that?" He's noticed the ring.

"We're celebrating Light and Kiyomi's engagement!" Touta says happily. Oh, Touta.

"Ha!" L laughs and falls back against his chair from the force of it.

"Lawliet-san!"

"I'm sorry, I just understood a joke from a film I saw last night. Delayed reaction. Oh, well, congratulations. Light seems to have raided a diamond mine in Botswana."

"It's 6.1 carats," Kiyomi tells him. Her face is swiftly becoming stern, like an angry teacher. "And it was mined in Australia. The white diamonds are from Botswana."

"It's pink," L points out.

"It's rare."

"Rare plastic?"

"It's Cartier," she says finally, turning her hand slowly from side to side so we can all admire the shine. I think that in a blackout we could probably still use it as a flashlight by refracting the light of the moon or something.

"I didn't think that you were the marrying kind, Light," L says to me, drawing my eyes back from Kiyomi's ring.

"Obviously you were wrong," I reply slowly. I'd like to throw him and his suit on the table, but sadly my sense of propriety doesn't allow me to follow up on this whim.

"Light, can we get a bottle of red wine?" Kiyomi asks me. Less than five minutes and L's already driven her to drink. I raise my arm lazily until a waiter comes running and Kiyomi orders.

"What is this, fucking eighties night on the stereo here?" Jeevas exhales over the music. "It was all frilly blouses."

"The eighties were a black hole to decent music," is Mihael's contribution.

"Well said, bro. Well said," Jeevas agrees, and they smash knuckles across the table. "Some fucker shot John Lennon and it was all downhill from there."

"I like this song," Kiyomi informs everyone before leaning towards me, whispering her malformed English lyrics into my ear. "You know there's nothing more than this." I smile and rub her back in consolation while keeping up with L's glare.

"So, Kiyomi!" L barks suddenly, making her jump. "How's your father? I haven't seen him for a while."

Her face pales and her voice sounds hollow as she answers him. "Erm... he died."

"Oh! Yes, so he did. That explains it then."

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused," he smirks back at her. I put my hand on Kiyomi's which rests on the table and she immediately assumes being a mirror of my unaffected demeanour like I'm passing on some fast-acting disease. This obviously infuriates L, since he steals Mihael's drink. Potential crisis averted, I remove my hand from Kiyomi's to light another cigarette. Why fucking not? This is practically post-coital. I'll just get my teeth whitened, that's all.

"I can't believe that we're all going to be married men," Jeevas says wistfully. "Do you remember when we were all single men on the block? Those were the days."

"Matt."

"Uh... I mean that those were the horrible, lonely, horribly lonely days, Naomi," he corrects himself while looking like a kicked puppy at the mere memory of his life pre-Naomi. She doesn't look terribly convinced.

"Hmmm..." she rolls before grasping a stray idiotic idea from the ether. "Kiyomi! What about a double wedding?"

"NO!" Jeevas and I both shout. Absolutely not. This is the worst idea since drop crotch, wide leg jeans.

"This isn't _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_, Naomi," I add. She looks crestfallen and Sayu looks deeply worried as she pours herself a glass of Kiyomi's wine.

"Whatever happens, I'm still maid of honour, right?" she asks.

"Of course, Sayu. You and my sisters," Kiyomi replies.

"What? I'm not sharing the spotlight with your sisters!"

"Darling, it's their wedding," Touta says, trying to calm his hurricane of a wife. If I was interested, I would find their relationship interesting. It's all giving on Touta's part, and all taking on Sayu's. She's attempting to take over the wedding, citing her experience of having had one even though she had a wedding planner. It started with her dress, about thirty seconds after Kiyomi and I told my parents that we'd decided to be business associates in life, and has steadily grown into a monster of arranging. Flowers, Kiyomi's dress, the location, Touta's suit, my suit, what kind of cake we have. Kiyomi is excellent at ignoring her while appearing to take her suggestions seriously. It's like someone took a tiny slither of me and fashioned Kiyomi out of it.

"You won't be in any spotlight, Sayu," I tell her. "Drink your wine." She looks like's she's going rugby tackle me, so Touta steps in.

"You're in my spotlight, darling," he says, but Sayu doesn't look like she gives a shit about constantly being in Touta's spotlight. The older she gets, the more I think that if she were not my sister, I would take a well-aimed potshot at her if I saw her crossing the road. I gave them a lump sum so they can have a baby, mostly in the hope that she would shut the fuck up. It was taken by Sayu as if she had earned it, while Touta keeps harping on about repayment plans. Based on his wages, it would take him about twenty years to pay me back. I can't be bothered with the angst, paperwork and cheques for tiny amounts, but still he keeps promising that he will find a way. As I look at Sayu, her face distorts into that of a demonic creature with completely blown black eyes. I feel ill.

"Urgh," I breathe out.

"That's so sweet, Touta," Kiyomi coos patronisingly. "Isn't that sweet, Light?"

"Nauseatingly so."

"Sorry, everyone. He's not like this normally," Kiyomi assures the table. "What's gotten into you?" she asks me quietly, and places her palm on my forehead briefly. For a moment, I think that she's going to shove a thermometer up my arse. Some man touches L on his shoulder as he walks past our table and L points two fingers to his temple as if he's going to shoot himself, which makes the man laugh as he goes.

"Kiyomi," L starts in a unnervingly kind tone, "I think you need to learn this about Light; he is normally like this. Whatever he's been like with you is just his game face. You're wearing a ring, which means that he doesn't have to bother with pretending to be human anymore. You're hardly going to let him go now that you're realising that he's a terrible person because, let's face it, he's loaded and you're getting on a bit. You better just get used to his sparkling wit and horrible disposition." This stuns the table into silence and L happily leans forwards, takes the smouldering stub of a cigarette from my hand and takes a puff of it as he settles back in victory. "To love and hate, eh, Light?"

"Ooooh, you are pissed off with him, aren't you?" Jeevas wheezes out of his clapped out lungs like he's an emphysemic Sherlock Holmes stumbling upon a clue. No one else seems to know what to do or how to change the course of the conversation, so I'm left to deal with the problem myself by removing it.

"L," I say, standing and motioning for him to follow me as I walk towards the bar. He arrives a minute or so later, by which time I've ordered two glasses of whisky.

"Slap my hand. It was worth every moment," L smirks as he stands alongside me, offering up the back of his hand. He leans on the bar, illuminated by blue lights, and looks beautifully ugly. I look back towards the table and see that they're watching with interest. Maybe they're expecting something dramatic. Don't worry, Kiyomi, I'm not capable of damaging my status and yours as a result. Don't look so fucking concerned.

"No need for that," I say, masking my feelings with a display of friendliness. "I'd just appreciate it if you'd try to be courteous to my fiancée and don't make derogatory remarks about me in her presence."

"You might appreciate it, which is part of the reason why I have no intention of complying. That ring is the gayest thing I have ever seen, and I've been to a Mardi Gras in San Francisco when Danny La Rue was in town. You might as well hang a sign on her with 'beard' written on it in rainbow colours."

"Oh, L, I have missed you. Here, pour that down your throat and drown," I say through a smile, shoving his drink into his hand.

"And, Light, how I've missed you. Your repulsive personality, the passive aggression, your love and death and hate and all that shit in your evil little brain. Wonderful."

"If I didn't know much, much better, I'd think that you didn't like me very much right now."

"The only time I liked you was when your tongue was in my mouth and my dick was in your guts," he says loudly before drinking the whisky. I've never been more grateful to Yura Yura Teikoku for their noisy music which covers this up for me. "Are you going to tell me off or take up the thrill of the chase again? I think that you'd be shit at chasing. Absolute shit. You haven't got the intelligence to chase someone like me, you can only be chased. Have a go, go on."

"No chasing, no telling off. I can just relay some facts to you instead because you clearly need to hear them."

"Is this to do with how I've blown you off in a completely non-sexual way?"

"You haven't. You never can; you're doomed. You're a shipwreck on my fucking rocks."

"The nostalgia had dimmed my memory of your intense arrogance. Thanks for reminding me of it."

"I told you that you'd regret not doing what you were told. You think that you can hold something over me to make me do what you want and then flounce off when you don't get it? Really, I expected better from you."

"Push me, Light," he says, close to my face, his eyes flickering from my eyes to my mouth. "Push me and I'll have some choice words with The Lady and write your resignation letter in the morning."

"For what reason, fucking you and then seeing sense? I'll deny it, obviously. People will believe me. I'm more important than you so who do you think they'd rather lose? And I've got Kiyomi now. You'll just look like some insane man who didn't get anywhere with me and has a grievance. It'd be the end of your career if that came out, wouldn't it? I have _beautiful_ photos of you on my phone; ones that would need a censor bar over the whole thing. I also have your father's home address. Wouldn't Judge Lawliet be thrilled that his favourite son is bringing the tone of the law firm down? I could plaster you all over Tokyo and London and anywhere else you think of running away to. Well, thanks, but I won't hold my breath for my resignation to be announced. I'll see you on the scrapheap, L."

"You know, I don't care. Your threats mean nothing to me. I don't think my career means as much to me as your precious reputation does to you. I'll live in lonely penury, happy that I've destroyed your chances. I don't think Kiyomi will stick around for long when you're unemployed."

I laugh and pat him on the back, leaning in like a comrade. "I don't think you understand, L. You can't do a fucking thing. You can't touch me. I've got more on you than you realise and I can destroy you totally with it. A spin doctor who has an unfortunate habit of sleeping with politicians? No, I don't mean me, because that never happened. Ukita, remember? You gave me that one. Also Aiber in the opposition, so I hear. That definitely doesn't sound good, and I could make up a few others because I have a wonderful imagination. Plus, you've swept a lot of things under the carpet for The Lady. What if all that came out? Imagine. Your friends would probably be ostracised, no one would use your law firm again, you'd bankrupt yourself, lose your houses and your cars and probably bankrupt a few other people besides. Your interesting sway on the press might bring a few companies down. Think of the innocent people who would lose their jobs because of you. I have evidence and notes about everything you've done - the Penber dossier, everything, and the ten o'clock news would bite my arm off to expose it all. They'd have to dedicate an entire programme to it to even try to cover all I have on you in bullet points. Take me on and that'll be the end of you. I have no problem bringing down the government because I'll tear everything apart one way or another. It's not me I'm worried about, it's you. Now, let's be on friendly terms, shall we? It's in your best interests. Kanpai," I say, calmly raising my glass to him while his face tightens over his bones.

"You carnivorous little -"

"Oh, the sweet smell of success," I interrupt, breathlessly ecstatic for a moment. "L, you stubborn fuck, just accept it. If I didn't know that Jeevas would follow me, I'd hammer you in the toilets right now until you bled, I really would. Maybe another time," I look him up and down as I lift my whisky to my mouth. "Definitely another time."

"Yes, definitely. Then I can strangle you in self-defence," he says, grinning at the thought. Oh, I'd love that.

"Ha! Definitely. You know, it doesn't have to be this way. We could go back to doing magnificent things together. I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you and you know it. This angry, illogical stance you have isn't going to last."

"If best and worst are interchangeable terms, then yeah, you're the best karma for my crimes that I've ever had. You're getting nowhere here, Light. You're just breathing carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. I'm not giving you anything that you want and I'm not giving you the evidence on The Lady. Not out of loyalty or to protect the government, but just because I don't fucking want to," he says resolutely. No, he's not going to, is he? He's standing too close to me and that's all I can think of.

"You don't have to. I'm not asking for that anymore. Just do your job. Or not. It doesn't matter now. Just be there, L. Your storm is coming," I say, and move slightly to lean on the bar and toss my glass to the barman to fill it up again. He jogs over like an idiot because I'm known for healthy tips.

"What do you mean?" L asks. My drink is filled. The barman is tipped. He fucks off.

"Only that I'll be Prime Minister by the New Year. That's off the record, of course."

"In Wonderland, maybe. How are you thinking of managing that?"

"That's my business. All you have to do is stop fighting me. I'll make it worth your while. We make an excellent team, you know that. You're my favourite person in this whole world. Just think, out of seven billion people, what really were the chances that we'd find each other?"

"It's basic maths, Light. Maths and an unhappy twist of fate."

"No, you're over simplifying it, as usual. Do you think that there's only one perfect person in the world for everyone? I do. There are plenty of practically perfects, but only one absolutely perfect person. And they might have been born in another time. They might already be dead. They might not even have been born during your lifetime, so you'll never know. What you don't know, you can't miss, right?" I say, dragging my fingertip along the rim of my glass which sits on the bar. "But then, I believe in fate. Gods smile on me, so there's no such thing as chance and probabilities. You were born purely for me. And your parents, and their parents, all the way back to the dawn of fucking amoebas, it was all for me. Anyway, bearing that in mind, I'm sure that I'll be able to see my way to tell you what you want to hear and make you believe it. I've practiced by doing the same to Kiyomi and she was very grateful. _Very _grateful."

"You're disgusting."

"So you keep telling me. But so are you. I snap my fingers and you come running. It's not your fault, it's just the way things are."

"I'm going to tell your fiancée exactly what she's marrying," he says, glancing pointedly at the table. His top lip is drawn up from anger, exposing his teeth like he's a wild animal. "I might as well tell everyone at that fucking table. Hell, let's just tell the whole room."

"Hey," I laugh, grabbing his arm as he turns to leave. "You need to calm down and take some time to reflect. Kiyomi's very surprising sometimes. You'd like her when you see that I've caught a very impressive fish. Maybe we could get a three-way going sometime? Ha, I'm joking. I'm just glad to see you. It's been a very long time."

"Kiyomi not putting out for you?"

"Yes, but she's still just Kiyomi. You have a key to my apartment still, don't you? Take it as a gift from me. Call it a shag pad on behalf of the Foreign Office."

"I like my massive house in the country more than your tiny apartment, thank you very much. Plus, you'll be in the apartment, so I definitely don't want it."

"I've moved into one of my official residences actually. I'm leasing my apartment for you," I tell him. The realisation hits him so hard that his mouth drops open.

"You arranged this whole thing, didn't you?"

"I might have coerced a security guard to let me into your office after you'd gone home this afternoon. I thought that I'd left my phone in your conference room, you see. At least, that's what I told him. You know how forgetful I am sometimes. I might have looked in your appointments diary while I was there, but it's all hypothetical."

"Fucking hell, Light," he laughs in angry disbelief. I bite my bottom lip as I smile and close my eyes.

"Mmmm... So, wait for me to snap my fingers, ok? Bye, L. Don't bother coming back to the table."

* * *

"I'm just saying that he's... not very nice." Kiyomi says diplomatically. I know that she'd like to just demand that I cut him dead from now on because she doesn't approve of him, and rightly so, but she's too clever to do that. She knows there's a wall in me and that she can only suggest things, hoping that her wisdom might filter through eventually. In another time and place they might have been friends, but with me in the middle and L having offended her so much that she's simmering in hatred for him, it would take a lot for them to stay in the same room with each other now.

Out of the corner of my eye I watch her shift in her seat to readjust her skirt, which is profanely high and it's my fault. I'm driving her home for the touch of respectability during our engagement, although we pulled over for a quick fumble. I thought of L the entire time. I wonder what he's doing now; I picture him in his living room in his leather recliner, reading a book and thumbing my apartment key in one hand with his marble, handless, tiny dicked kouros behind him... But I shake myself back to Kiyomi.

"I understand why you think that but he's really not so bad. He's just socially challenged and isn't good with strangers," I explain.

"If you say so, Light. Just don't invite him to the wedding, ok?" she asks, dropping the vanity mirror down to reapply her lipstick for her mother's benefit. No, Mrs Takada, I wouldn't lay a hand on your daughter. We're as sexless as you are and I'm Prince fucking Charming.

"Hmmm..." I acquiesce, though the thought hadn't even occurred to me. I check my face in the rear view mirror to find that my mouth and cheek is smeared with her lipstick like some crudely painted blackberry stain. Fuck, it's everywhere.

"He's just another mouth to feed anyway. We haven't had one decline to the invites yet, you know? They're so greedy. Having two ceremonies is bad enough, but the reception will ruin us financially and I really didn't want to have to go into my inheritance fund just to to pay for kombu for people I can't stand."

"I'm paying."

"No, we're in this together, it's only fair. I'm a feminist and equality means total equality. I can't bend the rules because I don't like paying. Just... please, don't invite him or anyone else. The guest list is horrendous as it is. I think we should show our faces at the reception, smile at the speeches and then disappear. I might change our flight to an earlier one."

"I wouldn't dream of inviting him. Not if it'll upset you," I say, making myself sound devoted although I doubt that L would go. I honestly wouldn't invite him anyway. I'm not sure that he could get through the day without making some scene. Kiyomi looks at me with a soft expression and with her lips half-painted.

"You're so understanding," she sighs, turning back to finish her lipstick. "He was so rude and you make all kinds of excuses for his behaviour. I'm just relieved that you decided on Touta for best man instead of Teru. Urgh, I don't even want to begin to imagine how awful Teru's speech would have been. Better Touta's 'nice and dull' than shocking, drug-fillled revelations about your sordid past."

"Ha! Sordid, Kiyomi? You think that I'm sordid?"

"I wouldn't love you so much if you weren't a little bit sordid. You're. Absolutely. Perfect," she says unemotionally, singling out each word as she slicks on a final layer of war paint in the mirror. A red slash in a perfect face.

"Absolutely perfect," I repeat quietly to myself like a mantra. "Isn't it a good trait for a politician to be understanding?"

"Yes, but not to a fault."

"L and Mikami have been good friends to me."

"Just don't make any mistakes with the friends you choose. Seriously, I'm only ever thinking of you."

Yes she's thinking of me, but mostly she's thinking of herself. I'd be the same if I was in her position, so I can't blame her. L and Kiyomi are in different solar systems to me, so it doesn't matter if they despise each other privately while I'm a link in the chain. I consider telling Kiyomi about L. I don't think that she'd mind much since she's very open-minded in that respect and isn't the jealous type. She doesn't have L's righteousness or sense of entitlement where I'm concerned, which makes her a tonic for me. She knows about Naomi (not that I told her; I think that Naomi must have bragged years ago), but her self-assurance is so immense that it's almost as if she likes how close our little clique really is. Also, she went through a phase of putting a face to an adversary, which seemed to amuse her; 'Did she do this to you? Can she do the things that I do? Who's better?' The depraved, beautiful bitch likes to hear me compare and contrast. But in terms of L, it's best that she's left ignorant. Because I might have to lie then, and I think that she'd know.

* * *

I walk around the PR department unseen, hanging around the coffee machine with a good view of L's office. I'm mostly hidden by a pillar and a pot plant, which is slightly embarrassing. It's Amazonian in here with all the fucking plants and trees scattered around. L's due for a meeting with Watari and The Lady. I know because Watari told me this morning. Mihael walks out of the office first and almost immediately drops some paperwork. As he scrabbles on the floor to pick it up, L walks behind him, looks down, and smiles at how pathetic his employee is.

"I always did like a man on their knees, Mihael, but you really shouldn't feel that you have to try so hard to earn your pay rise," L tells him, making him laugh.

"Take the fucking things and go," Mihael says as he stands to pass L the papers.

"Goodbye, darling. I set sail and it may be many years until we see each other again," he offers with a sad salute.

"I hate you and I want to die."

"That's not the first time I've ever heard that," L replies as he leaves, and I slink further behind the pillar as he walks past. L's new secretary, who sits at her desk outside L's office like a guard dog, looks like my old one. It is! The one I booted out for Kiyomi - what the very fuck? She laughs to herself, stopping abruptly when Mihael calls her a fag hag.

I check to make sure that L's out of sight before I head towards Mihael like I've just arrived. My ex-secretary is apparently still angry with me. I don't know why, it's not like I owed her anything. She tries to exert some dominance while scowling at me with her sulky heifer face as I breeze into L's office, but obviously thinks better of it.

"Hi, Mihael!" I say to his back in my friendliest tone. "No big cheese today?"

"You've just missed him actually," he replies, startled as I appear behind him. He's wearing leather trousers, which don't seem particularly appropriate. Perhaps he's trying to reform The Village People?

"Shit, that's a shame. Actually, I wanted to speak to you too. Are you busy?" I ask, and walk into L's office.

"I am, actually... um..." he mumbles as I sit behind L's desk and look at all the crap spread across the surface. The top of a photo frame pokes out between the stacks of paper, so I pluck it out of the mess and dust it off.

"Don't worry, he won't mind. My fault, I should have called first," I say holding the photo in both hands in my lap. It's of L and an older man, and L looks younger, maybe early twenties, and unusually smiley. Oh, you poor thing. You've been beaten down by life and me, haven't you?

"I could ring him now," Mihael suggests. It sounds like more of a threat. He doesn't like this situation. It probably goes against some law that L's laid down. I'm going to have to work hard to win him over, so I put the photo flat on L's desk and lean back in his chair to look at the blond fop.

"No, don't bother him if he's busy. How's he been lately?"

"He seems fine to me. Why?"

"I don't know if he told you... I mean, I know he thinks very highly of you, but we fell out a few months ago. It was over something really stupid and I just don't know how to make it right with him. He makes it difficult, you know what he's like."

"He didn't mention anything," he replies, looking like he's preparing to press a panic button.

"Really?"

"Apart from to tell me never to put any of your calls through, or let you come within fifty feet of his office and his diary, or talk to you ever again because if I do then he'll sack me. I think that means that he wouldn't want you in his office, in his chair, or in the building. Yet here you are."

"What do you mean about his diary?" I say, leaning forward with fake concern.

"He said that you checked it and arranged for us to go to the same restaurant that he was going to, on the same night, at the same time."

I stare at him for a moment as if he's talking to me in Swedish, then fall back with a pained laugh. "And how did I do that? Break in? Oh God, he's lost the fucking plot," I exhale sadly, letting my head fall and hang over the back of the chair. My desperate state must make Mihael feel some pity for me.

"But if you leave now, I won't tell him that you were here." He sounds like a policeman offering to let me off for some speeding fines.

"Don't you want to know why he's angry with me?" I ask.

"I'm not paid to care about what anyone does here," he answers, moving fluidly, like a cat, towards me. He picks up L's diary, which is directly in front of me, and puts it on his own desk fifteen feet away. "I have stuff of my own to worry about," he continues. "I just work here. I got a sense at the restaurant that you weren't his favourite person, but he doesn't mention you, Yagami."

"Light, please," I say.

"Light, then," he says coldly. "He still doesn't mention you."

"But you're friends, right? I know that L thinks of you as his friend, not just his assistant. He must be difficult to work for since he's a bit tempestuous sometimes."

"I've worked for worse."

"Oh, I bet. Yakuza, wasn't it?"

He straightens immediately, his face betrays him. "What?"

"L told me about your criminal record. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," I smile sympathetically. "We all make bad decisions sometimes and fall in with the wrong people. I'm all for integrating felons back into society, so I think of you as a success story."

"L told you?" he asks. No, he can't believe it, and that's probably because L didn't tell me; I found out for myself. I launch into my well-crafted lie with gusto.

"He didn't have a choice really. Don't mention this to him because he would feel humiliated if he found out that you knew. He'd also kill me if he knew that I'd told you, so please don't. I just think that you have a right to know. Things is, he found out that The Lady launched an unofficial inspection of employee's records last year. L brought you with him, so you went under the radar at the time, but they would have found out. I wiped your record because I have access to the records office, the mainframe, and I have a few contacts in the NPA. L doesn't."

"Jesus," Mihael exclaims, rubbing his head. "Well, uh, thanks. I guess."

I wave a dismissive hand. "Just don't mention it. Forget all about it. I'm not supposed to be able to know about these things. I have friends in certain places, that's all. I know that you don't trust me or like me so -"

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to. It's the politician thing, right? I'm used to it. I probably wouldn't trust me either."

"I don't distrust you because you're a politician..." he starts before drifting off, realising how big a hole he's digging for himself.

"It's my fault then," I say sadly. "I must have given you the impression that I'm not trustworthy. But I need your help, Mihael, please."

"I don't know what I can do to help."

"Does he have any plans after work tonight?" I ask quickly, like gunfire.

"Uh..."

"Do _you_?"

"What?"

"Don't look so worried, God!" I laugh. "Jeevas and I and a few others are meeting up for dinner after work and I just wondered if you'd like to join us. Nothing vaguely perverted, I promise. Oh, and I took your advice by the way. Had a seventies sound system shipped over from abroad from a collector who's on his last legs."

"You did?"

"You're welcome to come and try it out sometime."

"Oh. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Bought his vinyl collection too. I think there's about a thousand LPs." And he gasps. Maybe I should have started with this line of attack.

"A thousand?" he asks.

"Give or take."

"Which ones have you got?"

"Fuck, I have no idea. I'm trying to work through them but I don't have that much time nowadays for things like that. Call me anytime and have a look through them. If there are any you'd really like, have them."

"Seriously?"

"I'm never not serious. Someone might as well make use of them because at the moment it doesn't look like I'll be able to listen to them until my retirement. So, L. The situation is a bit awkward but... um."

"Don't tell me," he says, closing up again. "I don't want to know. I like being ignorant. I kind of respect my boss and I don't think I could if you tell me the details."

"What? Hold on, did he tell you that we were seeing each other? What has he been telling people? Fuck me."

"What you and L do in your spare time is up to you two."

"No, Mihael, no, nothing like that. He's just my friend, but I think he likes me a bit more than that, if you know what I mean. Hazard of life, I guess."

"But... It doesn't matter. I'm sorry but, even though I'm just an assistant, I have stuff to do or L will bollock me for slacking off."

"Ha! Yeah, but I've got to clear this up if L is telling you lies. We're not and we never have. Take it from me, because L's got a couple of screws loose upstairs. You saw Kiyomi. That's all I'm saying. Apart from to say that she's the reason that L's pissed off with me. I mean, the way he spoke to her was not on."

"That was quite polite for him, I thought."

"Well it fucked me right off. She's been really sympathetic towards him as well. I think she feels guilty, and I can't have that. Anyway, that's the situation. Just keep in it mind if he starts dreaming, ok? I have no idea what he's told you, but it's all in his head."

"As I said, it's nothing to do with me."

"Not the same for him though, is it? He was telling you who you could and couldn't be friends with at the restaurant," I remind him, adjusting my shirt at the wrists. Beau Brummell set the standard of having a thumbnail's width of shirt cuff showing under your jacket. I try to continue this fastidiousness.

"He was only joking," Mihael says, and I laugh at his naïvety.

"Look, I love the bastard, I do, but he doesn't joke. He sees you as his entitlement. I just wanted to set you straight, y'know? I'll let you go. Oh, could you get me a coffee, please? It was a long run over here from the Foreign Office."

"Yeah, sure."

"Thanks. You've got my number, haven't you? Call me any time to have a look through the vinyl."

"Ok. Thanks, Yagami."

"For fuck's sake, Mihael. Call me Light, will you?" He smiles briefly and seems nervous about leaving me in the office, but he goes. He can't really throw me out or ask me to leave because that's not how things work. While he's gone, I put the photo into my briefcase and scan L's desk again. How can anyone work like this? When Mihael comes back a few minutes later, I'm waiting outside near my awful sour-faced ex-secretary, and he looks incredibly relieved to see me out of the office. "Thanks. Mmmm... ambrosia," I say cheerily, and sip the horrible, gravy-like black coffee. "Right, I better head back. See you. And call me, ok? Kiyomi would love to see you too."

"Ok," he replies, his brow furrowing a little again with some invented emotional stress. What a cunt. He must be really good at handjobs or something. Why else would L keep him around?

"Great. And don't look so fucking frightened, yeah? Christ on a bike, as L would say," I laugh, walking backwards for a few steps. "Don't worry about him, it'll all work itself out. He can't be angry with me forever."

* * *

Three weeks to the day later, Kiyomi's sister in Hong Kong died suddenly. Too young. How sad. And she was so pretty too.

I paid for Kiyomi and her mother to go over there for a month to arrange the funeral and help the suicidal widower and their children sort through her effects and settle into life without her. Kiyomi wasn't terribly close to the eldest of her three sisters, which is just as well, but she went to support her mother and because the press would publicise it sensitively and affectionately. It would reflect well on both of us; how our wedding was preceded by tragedy, the supportive but hardworking groom-to-be, the devastated but tower of strength bride-to-be. We talked about setting up a charity in her name as that would also be good for the media. Kiyomi would be president, raising funds and offering emotional support to the families of young victims of sudden heart attacks, like her sister. She had to be seen as her own person, and a good person.

Sayu and Touta drove us to the airport to support Kiyomi and because I couldn't be expected to drive myself. Tradition tells us that during times of sadness, someone else drives the car. For some reason, Touta thinks that I must be upset as well. We wait near the boarding gate like a badly attended funeral. I can't go with Kiyomi, obviously. God, no. I don't want to. I have other things to do anyway, but officially, work prevents me. The paparazzi hang around the airport snapping photos of us in our grief-stricken silence. I'm wearing a dark grey suit, matching shirt, but no tie. It wouldn't be appropriate to look like I'd made too much effort. Kiyomi wore a black suit and dark sunglasses to hide how her eyes are not swollen. When they were called for boarding, old Mrs Takada kissed me on my cheek and stepped aside for Kiyomi to rub her hands along the length of my arms like she was ironing out some creases in me.

"Do you love me?" she asks, not seeming terribly interested either way.

"Like murder," I whisper back. She smiles and kisses me lightly on the lips, pulls away slowly, and leaves. I hope the press print that one.

* * *

After being dropped back home by Sayu and Touta, I shower and change before spending my day in solitary silence, staring at the clock on the wall for hours and waiting. I have the television on mute and I think how nice it would be if you could do that to people; mute them, or put them in stand-by, or just switch them off. While I wait, Mikami texts me, asking if I'd like to have a drink with him and Jeevas. Absolutely fucking not. This is an important day for me. I'm going to be in the news and I'm not going to waste this day on them. Of course, I don't tell him that, but I play vague and ask if anyone else is going. Apparently Touta is, and Mihael _was_, but he cancelled because he has to work late at the office. Oh. That's interesting.

I've put the photo of L and his old bastard judge father on the wall of my office with some other 'friends' and family photographs so it doesn't look out of place. Earlier on, I put post-its over the faces of everyone else, but I'll have to take them off at some point, I suppose. L's idiotic smile beams at my back as I stare at the clock, and I wonder if I would have liked him then, if he was that age now, or if I was my age then. I wonder what he was like. He wears his age like he's proud of it and that it's a miracle that he's still alive. I really can't imagine the boy in the photograph. There's nothing there to suggest that he would be any different from everyone else.

The TV is still on mute and news flashes on repeat within a bar at the bottom of the screen but I don't really take any notice, I'm not mentioned. I feel strange, like I'm watching New Year fireworks completely alone. There's not much time; an hour, maybe two.

* * *

I feel like an impostor as I walk into the building and sign in, mostly because of my casual clothing. It is Saturday, and late. L probably works harder than anyone here, although he gives the impression that he doesn't work at all. He protects the reputations of people who don't deserve it.

The PR floor is dark apart from the translucent glow between the blinds of L's office, and I enter it without knocking. I am intent and will see satisfaction. All the best things in my life must interconnect for me in this short time, and my blood fizzes as I sense it all overlapping now, knowing what I know. I'm shocked when I immediately see L sitting behind his desk. I hardly expected him to be there, living, with charcoal skyscrapers behind him, and he makes me inhale stupidly. Mihael and he both stare at me like I'm a suicide bomber.

"Let's go to Church."

My voice doesn't sound like my own, like I have no control over how my resolution seeps into it deeply, making it sound carnal. L's face splits with different emotions; his eyes shine with a smile while his mouth drops open slightly. After a beat, he stands suddenly and grabs his coat.

"Mihael, my phone is on vibrate," he says. Mihael scrunches up a confused expression as L starts throwing things into his briefcase.

"I'm in mourning," I explain to anyone who's listening. Neither of them seem interested in why I might be in mourning. L's too busy trying to get out of here, and Mihael just doesn't care.

"But... You're going to church?" Mihael asks L. "Since when are you religious?"

"Since now. I saw the light. No pun intended," L answers, slinging his coat over one arm. "Actually, go home. Don't phone me."

"Great!" Mello exclaims, checking the time quickly and standing to shrug on the leather jacket which hung over the back of his chair. "L, I'm still on double time until ten, right?"

"Triple, whatever," L replies as he walks past me. I follow.

Church, of course, means the House after L jokingly referred to it as such once. It's empty apart from a skeleton crew of security guards, and the sound of our footsteps bounces off the walls. Without exchanging a word between his office and here, and while I lean against a pillar in the lobby at a fair distance, L pays off security to turn off the closed circuit cameras and fuck off for an hour, which they were more than happy to do. Everyone has a price apart from me. The excuse is that I am rehearsing an emergency, very important and top-secret speech, the made-up content being boring enough for them not to care.

We walk into the chamber and, even when lit by the many glass lamps suspended from the ceiling, the room is still dim in how closeted it is from the world. There are no windows, and without them it makes me doubt that there really is an outside at all. It feels more real in here anyway. It's a wooden earth within the earth, and from here all decisions are made which dictate how people must live their lives. I take off my coat and let it lie over the back of one of the benches as L locks the massive doors from the inside. I've never been in here without it being full of politicians, and the vastness and emptiness strikes a new reverence into me. It's the court room of life, a cathedral of law, and I wouldn't be here with anyone else. But I almost forget that he's here. Only the dull echo of the doors being locked stiffly into place remind me that I'm not alone, and this place makes me feel alone. It bears down like it knows me and all I've done to be here.

I keep walking, passing the curving wooden lines in this half circle made up of benched segments. Your placement here relates to your status and worth. Once, I sat at the back, where everything sounded distant and I heard little but the coughs and breaths of those in front of me. They blocked my view and thought that I was just like them and that I would never move from that spot. They never thought once in their lives, never did anything worthwhile, and they will stay that way. They will be my numbers on sheets. I walk past their ghosts and the ghosts of those who took these seats in lives before ours, all the way back, and they've been waiting for me like a patient audience all this time. They face a kind of stage of engraved paneling in red wood, like blood runs behind it, and I sit in The Lady's usual seat, observing the view from this new position. It is almost ethereal until L sits next to me and reminds me that I am actually here, aren't I? I'm not walking through a dream I had once. There's more to me than my mind, and this is mine.

"This was a good idea of yours," he says. "Every minute you're not with me is an absolute waste. You know that, don't you?"

I can't reply to that, only close my eyes and incline my lazy head towards his. We shouldn't speak, we don't have permission, but his voice sounds warm in this dead place. If he feels the need to flatter me here then that's fine, but I doubt that he means it. He says things sometimes, these little snow jobs covered in honey, but they're ultimately self-serving and he really shouldn't waste his words on me. They're almost insulting, but I missed them.

Maybe he should be told now, but it can wait. I strain obscenely as he touches me through the fabric of my trousers. "Look where we are," I tell him, and suddenly, somehow, his mouth is on mine. I taste the sugar and caffeine there, and quicken for him. It's such an alien feeling after nothing but cold contrivance for so long, and I let myself collapse and twist into it. With my eyes closed like this, I could be anywhere, so I let my hand fall to my side and grip the edge of the bench to keep this building in my thoughts and combine it with him. It brings me some kind of fervour and knocks me out of my dreamlike stupor. I become an insurgence against him in this battlefield between us. I love that he's with me, I hate that he's been such righteous bastard for weeks and weeks and weeks. I'm trying to tell him that while my hand aches from grounding myself, digging the sharp edges of the bench into my palm. He must understand, he must do, because he's kissing me back with the same ferocity and it's not fucking Disney, no. No one is like him, and my lungs are burning like I've been running for years. I have been running for years.

Then we part, he leaves me completely and without my permission. My eyes open in disbelief to see the incredibly self-satisfied, triumphant look on his face.

"You think I've surrendered, don't you?" I ask.

"I was too busy to think, Light," he says smugly, leaning back, and he delicately touches where I've made a tousled mess of his hair, like it's proof of something. He always moves with a controlled listlessness while everyone else looks like they're trapped in a cage of awkward, rigid physicality. I admire and despise how his self-assurance shows itself in this determined rejection of conventions, my conventions. He denies it like he's an alter-ego, showing me how relaxed I could be about life. He thinks that I'm weak for him and that I should just accept it, doesn't he? My anger is so intense that my backbone feels like it's fused together. I don't think that I've ever felt this angry. It's like I've been humiliated and I couldn't possibly feel more outraged than I do now. But then he smirks again, knowing that I'm watching him for just one more offensive action or word, and he starts taking off his cufflinks.

As he dips his head forward, my eyes spring to the exposed nape of his neck and I grab it, throwing all my weight behind it to drive him onto the floor. It makes a pleasing solid sound combined with the air being knocked out of him. He breathes out a laugh with his face pressed hard against the ground, so I restrain his arms behind his back. He suddenly seems very thin and breakable to me. Maybe if I break his bones then I'll break him? That's a nice question to give into for a second. I imagine the carnage and the utterly broken man and my lack of regret. But I would regret it. Anything spontaneous can only end in mistakes, and I'd want him back the way he is now, fighting me and denying me and telling me that I'm nothing and that I need him. He might be too fragile for this tepid roughhousing, but then I can't imagine him not being able to take anything I give him. "Have you ever done this in the House before?" I whisper into his ear.

"Once or twice," he replies with difficulty, but smiling. He actually cannot stop smiling, even with my knee in his back, so I press down harder in shock and frustration. He's lying. He must be lying. When I don't say anything in return, he tries to look behind him as far as his neck will allow him to. "Why, would this be a totally new experience for you?"

"When?"

"A year or so back."

"You hypocritical shit, I could catch something from you!" My anger flares up and I must loosen my grip on his arms because he swiftly turns around, elbowing me in the chest and slamming me onto my back instead. As if trying to mimic what I'd done to him, he places his knee firmly in my stomach while he takes off his jacket and wickedly smiles down upon me.

"I don't know what to say, Light. I'm a very bad man."

I massage his knee which is heavy on me and feel my muscles fighting against the pressure of it. I can only imagine the bruise I'll have there. God, I can't wait to see it. "You _are_ a very bad man," I agree slowly.

"But it was quite disappointing," he continues, loosening his tie with one hand. He looks like he's preparing to be knighted. "The man in question didn't recognise the symbolism, which took all the joy out of it for me."

"I see the symbolism."

"I know." He starts pulling my sweater off, yanking my shoulder painfully after he throws his tie aside. "Now, I'm not going to the chemist right now, so this could be very painful for one or both of us, and I have a very high pain threshold, so I think it's going to be you."

"Really? I don't think so," I say, pulling out the bottle from my pocket. He takes it from me, tosses it his hand and flips open the lid.

"You always come prepared, like a boy scout," he mutters, sniffing the contents of the bottle. He makes me feel sick. "I was useless at being a scout, though they did teach me that this stuff is a necessity. It's probably where I learned it in the first place."

"Is that what they you teach there?"

"I was with a lot of upper class, over-Latined, over-sexed boys in a tent. What do you think?"

"This is very irritating."

"Yes, but everyone should retain the use of their sphincters," he says blithely. "It's a basic human right."

"No, I mean you sitting on me while you talk about the boy scouts. You better let me the fuck go, or I'll have to smash your face into the wall."

His smiles spreads at my threat, and he pulls away to stand and start taking his belt off. "What are you waiting for then?" he asks me.

Like it's a race, we both rush to get our trousers off as quickly as possible. Of course he's ready before me, the bastard is vertical, and he cheerfully yanks my trousers off like I was a magic act. I hardly have a chance to move before he's upon me again, and it's all too impatient for this place at first. I bring his face to mine, liking how leans up to me like an obedient servant. I can feel the pulse in his throat even from here, and I realise that I could choke him. I could suffocate him like this. Just hold him here and cover his mouth with mine, like this, and squeeze my hands around his throat until I crush his voice and everything inside until he leaves me the fuck alone. But I don't do that, I slow the kiss into something I might have even considered boring once, but the thought is there and the only thing stopping me is myself.

The idea that I could kill him makes me dizzy like he makes me dizzy and to avoid falling backwards, I curl forwards to wrap my arms around him. He kisses me more forcefully again then, which is at odds with how gently his hand runs down the curve of my back before he lies down on top of me. I didn't think this through properly. This is going to be messy. It always is. I'll probably have to come back later with some furniture polish and carpet cleaner. But I shouldn't think of things like that right now.

I inhale the dark scent of his skin and hair and wonder why the fuck we haven't done this earlier. It's his fault. Then he's gone again. My reactions seem delayed by the intensity as he rolls my knees up to my chest and lifts the back of my thighs to raise me higher. He's too tender sometimes. It's annoying. Above my head is more of the wood paneling, stretching on forever, broken only by baroque wallpaper and framed by heavy velvet drapes. I don't know what L's doing because I don't care. I'm hardly here. There's a physical need to catch up with him, I feel it dimly, but he won't let me. I want to stop and for him to just stay there for a while so I can take in this place and what it's saying to me because I can't hear it, I can only hear us breathing. It needs to become a part of me before I can do anything else, and I've realised that too late. He presses the tip of a finger inside me, which makes my head fall back and hit the floor hard as he mercilessly tries to ease the restriction like a clumsy fuck. As my head spins, I can only think of the white columns holding this place up. I'd like to tear them down so there's only rubble around us and blue skies above, always.

"It feels like..." I say breathlessly, but he doesn't hear me, or he doesn't care.

He helps me angle my hips for him and I relax enough to let him slide into me. He starts, finds a pace, and I shiver with the exquisite pain of being invaded. I wanted this, I just imagined it the other way around because this is my building. I did need it here, it's just strange because maybe I'm just a passenger to him now. He makes me feel like that and I don't know why. There's no way out, he surrounds me, and I'm not sure if I'll ever get used to it. All I feel is thankfulness when his face presses against mine.

His voice murmurs something into my hair. It sounds like English, at once like birds in flight and guttural, but I don't understand. Because of that, I grasp his face and bring it to my hungry mouth. He's heavy on me, and he's so light normally, barely there at all, but everything is amplified and somehow something as simple as breathing seems like such an effort. I have to concentrate for a second to try and regulate things. But then, this doesn't mean anything if it doesn't hurt.

I encircle his shoulders and waist as he moves inside me, moving back and forth as his mouth locks onto mine roughly, but even that feels like silk against silk now and I want something else. This seems to go on forever so I turn to see everything spread away from me instead. The patterns and shapes move with me and shudder, and I'm moving because of him. It's a spiralling vine from where I am, and the floor is rough against my shoulders. It disappears when I close my eyes, and comes back when I open them. I think that someone's calling my name from far away and tilt my head back, but there's nothing, nothing but moaning. Then I see him again and wonder how long he's been kissing me like that, wherever he can reach me. Sweat stings my eyes as he places loose, wet, biting, rhythmic grazes on my skin like he's angry with me for not giving him my full attention but he's trying not to care. I think for a moment how stupid and beautiful he looks, because he's such a liar.

"Stop being nice to me," I whisper brokenly into his mouth. "I might as well get fucked by somebody's grandmother." He smiles against my mouth and I smile too in expectation. Try and make it interesting for me.

He increases the strokes with a fluidity and depth. The change in pace makes me gasp as I tighten around him and claw at his back. My nails scrape underneath his shirt and it feels damp and warm like he is, all over. I must have hurt him, I suppose, because he pulls my hips closer to him and violently thrusts into me.

All I feel is heat and time passing and I want to disappear inside it. It radiates, and I can taste the coppery salt of sweat on his skin as my lips drag across his chin. With each thrust I feel myself coming apart from the inside and my stomach aches from it because I've been waiting for this for a long time. He hits something which is so rarely touched that it makes me want to cry for a second, and I press my eyes into his shoulder to see pulpits superimposed in the darkness with rays of light. Pulpits and books and cheering fucking crowds. Rivers of writhing people all shining with blood. He throbs in me and I feel myself stream between us while he trembles and struggles to even gasp for a breath.

The warmth against our bellies is slick and I bite his lip, tasting blood in both our mouths. I tighten around him so hard as I come that I more or less demand that he follow. He has to learn the way things are now and this is a good lesson for him. But something changes within me suddenly; when his body undulates, I feel dead inside. I can hardly feel it now. I'm done. Just the swell of him as he comes inside me, buried in me. I want him to stay there forever, although I'm not sure how I'd explain it when the House reconvenes on Monday. This is so disgusting, it's wonderful. And over.

I'm all to the winds as he pulls himself out of me slowly. I lie still, can't even hear my own heart beat, just some pressure in my head as I gaze up at the ceiling again. I thought I saw something dark up there, looking down on us. Some gargoyle of fate.

So I lie there as L slams against the floor beside me and looks what I'm looking at, but not seeing what I see.

"The Lady's dead," I whisper, as I can hardly breathe, only force out words with rasps of air.

"What?" he asks, not really listening. I like the sound of his breathing, it's like a metronome winding down.

"She left a suicide note about her involvement in the oil conspiracy. She recommended me to be her successor."

I sense his head snap around to look at me as I stare at the ceiling. There's only silence then, but I can almost hear echoes of us in this room. Then he starts to laugh.


	8. Psychosis On The Sea

**A/N **Disclaimer: The Errol Flynn death trivia herein is definitely not true. He generally lived himself to death, although I'm not sure if his girlfriend could have helped much.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**Psychosis On The Sea**

* * *

Sitting on top of her, with my hips locked so she can't move if I won't let her. Her hands are on my back, and they just stay there, floating, like she's just posed and rigid while I move beneath them as liquid would. Beautiful, long, thin fingers, like his, with polished glass tips, spread out over my skin. Her hair is like his. I could almost believe it as long as she doesn't say anything and I ignore things. Suddenly, I don't want to be near her. I don't want her anywhere near my face. I sit up straight and look at the wall in front of me until I see through it, rushing through, knocking down walls until I can see blue skies right through the middle, like my eyes just blasted a hole through the building. It's amazing. How did I do that? And the hovering black, crow-like thing there, floating. He looks at me and I look at him. I wish he'd come closer.

"Light?"

My head spins towards the voice and my back twists to follow it. L's standing in the doorway, just staring at me. Where did he come from? My forehead feels like stone as it sets in confusion, and I turn back around. There's no girl. There's no hole through wall. He broke it.

"Are you ok?"

And even though I'm still looking at the wall waiting for it to collapse again, it doesn't, and I can see him as if I'm standing in front of me. I can see me, and him behind me, and his feet are chopped off by my shoulder.

"Yeah. Is that coffee?" I ask, sitting on the bed to face him and his spider-like finger, which are wrapped around a holder with two cups lodged inside.

"Yes," he says falteringly, because he wants to say something else, something more. He keeps looking between me and the wall behind me.

"L," I breathe out, and hold my arm out towards him. I feel tired and my eyes droop like my heavy smile. He doesn't move for a moment, and I think that maybe he'll never move. But then he walks towards me, but not to me, to the table at the side of me, and puts the coffee on the top of it. I lean forwards and hold his legs loosely as I press my face into his hip. It's so sharp and unforgiving and better than pillows, so I close my eyes. I just hear a shuffle as he pushes some books aside to fit both of the coffees on the table, and feel the weight of his hand on my head as it traces and falls down the back of my neck on this misty morning. It's like there's a slow, quiet fog in the room and everything has stopped. He turns towards me and my head rolls with him. My tip of my nose hits his belt and it's cold but I don't open eyes. My forehead is on his stomach, which is just like a piece of board it's so flat. When I open my eyes, I can almost see the weave of his jacket. My hands fan out behind him and I lift my head to sit straight, grabbing his lapels to pull them back over his shoulders.

"Oh no," he laughs softly, and steps away from me so I lose my weak grasp of him. The fabric drags through my hands like sand.

"Come here."

"No, you're not good for me."

"Don't be stupid. Come here," I tell him. I'm so tired and he's a massive, massive tease, but I don't have to wait long. He puts his hand flat on my forehead like he's blessing me, and I almost laugh, but I close my eyes again as he pushes my head back. His palm drags me backwards, moving itself across my skull, through my hair, until I'm in the position he wants me to be so he doesn't have to lean down far to kiss me. He wakes me up and my hands wander up his back so he can't leave. When I'm on my back and I've pulled him down too, I roll him over and never stop kissing him, never. Always connected by these fat little pads of skin. I feel him even when he's not here.

"Light."

"Shhhhh..." I grip his jaw in my one hand, just one hand. How dare he go. Get clothes on and go like that without me knowing. His hair is damp and he's all squeaky clean again like I'd never been there. I pull at his tie. A red tie. Like a line of blood running down from his throat.

"Light, no," he sighs, putting his hand on mine as it unknots his tie.

"I haven't finished with you yet."

"No. I have to go back to work and I think this is the point of death."

"Nah, you could go another round," I breathe out, not wanting to disturb the silence.

"I really can't. Do that and I'll be Errol Flynn."

"Hmmm?"

"He's a dead actor. You know how he was supposed to have died? Just gossip, of course, but apparently some young thing fucked him to death like he was a stud horse. Fucked him to death, aided by his years of drink and drugs. He had a bachelor pad called 'Cirrhosis-by-the-Sea'."

"Ha."

"Yes, so I suggest, and it's only a suggestion, that you piss off and leave my poor heart alone for a while and drink your coffee."

I sit straight and stretch, letting my head fall back and around. "Nnnnn... ok. But only because I don't want you to die." I move off him to sit against the bedhead, reaching for the coffees and popping the plastic lids off as he sits up slowly.

"Good decision. It wouldn't look good for the press anyway. I'm grateful."

"Where have you been? You've been to work on a Sunday?"

"It's not just any Sunday. It's Black Sunday. I just dropped into the office to find out more about The Lady. Got changed," he says, fixing and straightening his tie. Yes, it is a different suit and shirt and tie and everything. I didn't notice. "There was a lot of press going on without my involvement, and as Press Relations, I should relate. Don't you want to know the news?" he asks, taking his coffee from me.

"Not really."

"Ok."

"What's the news?" I sigh. I should know. The heat from the cardboard cup seeps into my hand and the coffee is bitter in my mouth.

"You were right," he says, stirring sugar into his coffee. "Suicide. Autopsy results will be in this afternoon, but it looks like an overdose."

"Oh."

"So."

"So?"

"We better get your candidacy papers written up and submitted. You should make a statement to the press announcing your deep regret. Yes. Deep regret, but nothing too committed right now. No legacies or anything. Best not rave about her because it'll sound hollow when the whole thing comes out. I'll keep it short."

"I can write the statement."

"Yes," he smiles as he remembers that I'm capable of such a thing. "I'm sorry. Politicians writing their own statements, whatever next? Email it to me, will you? Soon as you can. We need it circulating."

"Are you going to miss her?" I ask, looking at the frothy mess on my coffee.

"She was just another client to me, Light. These things happen. Why, will you?"

"No. But it's sad."

"Sad, is it?" He sips his coffee. "I couldn't find much out about the note, so I called the Chief of the NPA, and yeah, it's what you heard. We might edit out the oil conspiracy, I don't know. If you heard rumours about it as early as last night then it might be quite hard to contain. Might as well let it fly. It'll come out anyway so there's not much point, but you know Watari. He still thinks that if click your heels together three times and pretend that something didn't happen, it didn't happen."

"Do you have to go back in?" I ask, and he nods once. "Can't you work from here? Use my phone." He smiles into his coffee. "What?"

"You surprise me," he says, then looks like he's swallowing painfully before he puts his cup back on my table.

"You know, you really don't look like you're at the point of death yet."

"Thank you."

"Stay a bit longer."

"Write that statement and I'll bring your candidacy papers over in an hour."

"No, I'll come with you."

"I don't have time to wait for you, I'm afraid," he says, not looking terribly sad about it as he stands up. "Sort yourself out, Light. Eat something."

I stretch again as he leaves, taking his coffee with him. My body feels like it's just held together by wires and metal.

* * *

Eventually I do sort myself out and make my way into the office. I text L to let him know, and it's nice to get a reply after months of it being a dead line to me. There are a lot of other people in the building, considering that it's a Sunday, and I get confused and keep thinking that it's Monday. L and Mihael let themselves into my office. I haven't had the inclination to find a new secretary since Kiyomi resigned when we got engaged, not that a secretary could stop them anyway. L finds it his right to go wherever he pleases, whenever he pleases, and never had time for knocking. This time though, I have an idea of what he's bringing me, so I stop circling and circling and circling an error I made in my statement, and place my pen flat on the table.

L leans against the wall to the side of the door and Mihael drops an envelope on the table for me before backing off to stand with L. I open it with both of them standing there watching me. They look like they're up against a firing squad, although their languid air and L's barely contained smirk wouldn't really suit impending death. Mihael looks slightly ill as it is, because he's clearly been awake all night and is desperately hungover.

It's my statement of candidacy.

"Thank you, Mihael," I say, and he looks to L, unsure of what the words mean coming from me. I turn the page over briefly, because somehow I expected there to be something on the other side.

"It's ok. Go home and get some sleep," L tells him. "Look better tomorrow."

"I look fine."

"You really don't, darling. And since how you look accounts for more than half of the reasons why I hired you, I say that you should go to bed. There's a good boy." Mihael leaves immediately, and thankfully probably, letting the door snap shut. I'm not sure why L brought him. Maybe so he too could experience such a historic moment. "Well, Prime Minister. Are you ready?" L asks me.

"You drafted this?" I ask. He appears to be slightly bored by the question and walks over.

"Read it through and sign there," he says, kneeling in to point out the very obvious space for a signature, which I had noticed.

I turn in my chair to face him, holding the paper, and when I look up, his eyes shock me. I'm not sure why they do, I should be used to them now. I think back to the first time he sauntered into my office when I was in Transport. He kneeled before me, just like this, and he said, 'Ah, do you like me just that little bit more? Are we friends now? You've scored big time, Yagami-kun.' I had no idea then.

"There's no one else?" I ask.

"No one. Only you."

I can't help but smile a little. "I meant, is anyone else announcing their candidacy?"

"That's what I was meant," he tells me through a matching smile, but after a moment he's serious again, and he stands. "No, no one worth worrying about. You have the endorsement of The Lady, which still means something for some reason. You should call these MPs as soon as possible so you can be sure of their support in the vote. We have to whip the fuckers," he says, handing me a list of names. "They'll probably go along with the majority anyway, but sweeten the deal a little and don't budget too severely because they'll appreciate the flattery. Make them feel important. Be their friend."

"Ok."

"I suppose this is the end of our little business arrangement. I must say, it's been nice working with you, most of the time."

"Why should it finish now?"

"Mission accomplished. Why should it continue?"

"I'll need you afterwards."

"Well, we'll see," he says.

"L, you're not think of leaving, are you?"

"I have some statements to write and scandals about the opposition to make up."

"But you're not thinking of leaving the government?"

"Not right this moment, no. But, like I don't rely on you to be anything other than what you are, you shouldn't rely on me. I'm very changeable."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't stay in one place for long. My father's not well. If anything happens, I have to be prepared to take over the firm."

"But -"

"It's what I was trained for, Light, and I miss it. Keep your head down, time your announcements well, watch your MPs, and have stories leaked about the opposition when necessary. Don't _ever _be sympathetic. If you think that something could damage you and the party, throw it to the wolves. Kill them."

"Kill them?"

"Yes. Kill them all," he tells me, smiling viciously. My God, he's stunning sometimes. For the first time in my life, I want to be someone else. I want to be him. Look like him and speak like him and move like him and think like him and have all the things in his head. "You'll be ok, it's really not very difficult," he adds. "I'll only ever be a phone call away anyway."

"I can't do my own PR and be Prime Minister."

"Yes you can. There are other people just like me who can help you, and they come cheap, unlike me. I take direct deposits, cash, credit card, or cheque, by the way." I laugh to myself and look back down to the statement. He takes it from my hands and puts in on my desk.

"I have to pay you now? God, that's depressing."

"Sign it," he tells me, and I do. My pen hovers over the last stroke before he whips the piece of paper from the desk and folds it. "Well done. The boy did good," he mutters, and starts to walk away.

"L?"

"Hmmm?"

"Come back here."

"No fucking concern for my knees, Light. As always," he moans, crouching in front of me again. "This better be good. What?"

"I know that this might not be happening now if it wasn't for you. It probably wouldn't be happening."

"Maybe, but it all worked out nicely, didn't it? I could almost believe in fate, like you do."

"Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you tell the press about The Lady when you had the proof?" I ask, and he looks down to the floor.

"You know why. I had my reasons," he says.

"And now they've changed and you're back on my side, just like that."

"I was never not on your side, but I've accepted how things are now. I can always go back to how I used to be - it's a gift of mine. Nothing touches me really." I love him for that, but I can't do anything but carry on staring at him. I'm as shocked as he is when I lean forwards to cross my arms around his back, gripping the fabric of his suit in one hand. I press the side of my face against his and look at the wall behind him.

"You're such a liar," I tell him.

"Yes. And I was born purely for you, wasn't I? I forgot," he replies. No, that was a bit too much truth for you, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry that I said that."

"No, maybe it's true. To you, it's true. But if it is true, then it works both ways."

I whisper in his ear. It was just a whisper though. He probably didn't hear it.

"Y'know, I almost believed you then," he says after a moment. "All this practice on Kiyomi must be paying off. Don't worry, Light. We're ok. There's no need to resort to those kind of tactics with me." I feel him pat my back before he stands again.

"It's not a tactic."

He smiles and grips a fistful of my hair with a ferocity which doesn't suit with the softness of how he looks as me, but it's only for a moment. "I'll call you when I've announced your candidacy. There'll be a meeting in the House later, of course."

And he leaves.

* * *

The restaurant is traditional and full of people. The overlarge, ironed out, white tablecloths seem out of place, like they're been stolen from somewhere else. Watari is the only one of us who's eating. L and I I just push food around on our plates until someone takes them away and replaces them with another course.

"But let's not talk shop now, Yagami. How's your handicap?" Watari asks me, after discussing 'shop' for what seems like a very long time, needing little imput from L or myself. It sounded like he just needed to vent at someone.

"Oh, I have a long way to go, I think," I reply.

"We should meet on Tuesdays," Watari tells me. "Losing Takada has made golf a rather lonely business for me lately."

"I'd like that."

"I hear that you're engaged to Takada's daughter. Which one?"

"Kiyomi."

"Oh. Which one is she?"

"The youngest."

"OH! I remember her now. Her hair comes to about here?" he asks, indicating around his shoulders. I nod. "Very nice. Well done, Yagami. When's the wedding?" he says, like I've won a raffle.

"The first of June. We'd be honoured if you and your family could make it."

"Oh yes, of course. Wouldn't miss it, Yagami. Lawliet, could you mark that in my diary for me?"

"Consider it marked," L replies.

"Dreadful business about the other sister. Thank God that Takada isn't here to see it. She lived abroad, didn't she?" he asks me.

"Yes, Hong Kong. Kiyomi and her mother have gone over there to help with the funeral and the children."

"She had children? Oh dear." I surprises me that Watari seems to know very little about his late, supposed best friend's family, but I suppose that it shouldn't. "Dreadful. I'm sure that you'll be glad to have her back."

"Yagami is making the most of his last few weeks of being a bachelor, Watari," L says, I look down instinctively when I feel what I quickly realise, after a moment of concern, that L has pressed his shoeless foot into my crotch, but I can't see it because of the tablecloth. I reach under the table to pull the sock off his foot it as he smiles like a Bond villain.

"Oh, good, good," Watari mumbles through the claggy mouthful of food he obviously thinks that we should see. "Wish I did more of that before I married. Didn't go in for those things in those days though. It just wasn't done."

"These modern men are terrible, Watari," L says, and drinks some saki, which is all he's done really.

"I suppose that's progress, Lawliet," he replies despairingly. I open my mouth to deny being a raging nymphomaniac in my last few weeks of freedom, but L presses firmly suddenly and I gasp and then cough into my fist.

"You and Yagami are tennis partners, aren't you?" Watari asks through my coughing fit.

"Mmmmmm... he's fairly proficient," L nods.

"Excellent. Do you smoke, Yagami?"

"No," I yelp while I try to push L's foot away under the table without making it look like I'm having a seizure.

"Drink?"

"Socially, but not to excess."

"Excellent.

"Yagami _is_ excellent," L tells him. "I honestly could not think of anyone more worthy. But that's just my opinion, of course."

"Your opinion counts for a lot, Lawliet, you know that. And The Lady did seem to have a lot of faith in him."

"Oh yes, I've heard about this. What exactly did the note say?" L asks, leaning forwards with interest. There's a dull sound when, what I hope is his knee, strikes the table as he removes his foot from my personal space, leaving me with his fucking sock. I don't understand why he's asking about the note since he knows exactly what it said, but then I realise that it's to remind Watari of the glowing recommendation.

"Can't remember the particulars, but she waxed lyrical," Watari says, and smiles as the waitress takes his plate away. God, I hope it's the last course. "She was obviously very concerned about the party, despite this... unfortunate business. Very difficult. I hope you realise that this would be no small undertaking, Yagami, were you to win the ballot. This incident with The Lady has damaged the party to such an extent that there will probably be a call for government to be dissolved and for a general election to be held."

"Actually, that looks increasingly unlikely," L chips in before I can say anything. Watari turns to him, his glasses steaming up from all these courses. Thin lines of sweat settle like stagnant rivers between the many wrinkles on his face.

"Really?" he asks.

"Some significant figures in the opposition appear to have been involved in the the scheme too. Most significantly, our esteemed leader of the opposition, which would make any calls for a general election a bit redundant. As The Lady was the only person involved on our side, what would happen, at worst, is that we're voted in with a coalition with one of the smaller parties, and no one wants that."

"Lawliet, you are very clever," Watari tells him, settling back into his seat in awe. L smiles and dips his head.

"Yes, but it's actually Yagami who discovered that, so I can't take credit, unfortunately. He's been in contact with the individuals in question, and they backed down, as you would expect when threatened with being outed. They didn't like the idea of the inevitable loss of office and mass resignations it would involve. I had a lovely conversation with their Head of PR yesterday, you know how I idolise that maladroit idiot. We hate each other so vehemently that I wouldn't be surprised if he left his wife for me one day. He backed down and tore up their plans, and it's the right decision. They wouldn't recover public faith for the next decade, never mind the next election."

"It sounds as if you've saved the party," Watari says, turning to stare at me with the same awe.

"I only did what anyone else would do," I say dismissively.

"Yagami is self-depreciating to a fault, Watari. It's perhaps his one flaw. Sometimes it's hard to believe that he's human and uses the toilet just like the rest of us."

"A bit of humility is a very good quality in a leader. As a lawyer, you wouldn't appreciate that," he says jokingly.

"Ha. No, I wouldn't. In that case, Yagami has no flaws."

"Well, to have earned the support of someone so hard to please as Lawliet, you really must be worthy, son. I have to admit, I underestimated you, despite your success in your offices. Your work in the Foreign Office had been noticed, but you're so young that that was my only concern."

"He's an old soul," L tells him, swishing his saki around in the glass. "Can't you see him leading the party? I think that he's exactly what the government needs; a fresh face, and a very nice one too. He's very popular, but competent, which is unusual."

"You're very lucky," Watari says, nudging me in the ribs. "He's putting forward quite a persuasive case for you."

I can't help but sense that all this is going over my head and that I'm just decorative. My input has not really been called for, and even when it was, L shot it down. "I'm not sure what I've done to deserve it, he's a very good friend," I mumble.

"Oh, there's that humility again," L laughs, and Watari looks like he's going to keel over with all this good humour.

"He may have designs on you. You should warn your fiancée. Ha!" he nudges me again. I feel uncomfortable on L's behalf, but he smiles warmly at Watari.

"Never. You know me, Watari, I don't understand you politicians. I'll stick to uncomplicated people. Not that Yagami would have me anyway, he has too much sense. I'd ruin him, I think."

Watari laughs so much that I think that he farts quite loudly. I'm pretty sure that it wasn't his chair. "Oh. Oh. I better go," he says suddenly, confirming it. "I didn't realise the time. Well, thank you, Yagami. Very nice meal. Golf tomorrow then?"

"Absolutely. I'll call you." Yes. I'll put it on my fucking tab. L and I wave him off and I ask for the bill so we can leave as soon as possible. The low ceiling is indistinct with steam as I pay and L appears behind me with our coats. I'm desperate to shout at him and ask him what the fuck just happened, but it'll have to wait until we're outside. I think he knows, but doesn't look in the least concerned about it, taking a complimentary mint from the bar as we go.

Once outside I set a quick pace through the narrow streets back to where we've parked.

"That went well," he says happily, sucking on the mint. Thank God he spoke because that's my cue.

"You didn't let me fucking speak! What is with your foot?" I bellow at him. But he can hardly tell me, he's trying so hard not to laugh.

"I really don't know, it has a life of its own. And you said quite enough. It's best if you say little with Watari."

"But -"

"Watari is the kind of man who needs to be told what to think by someone he respects. He doesn't respect you, or at least he didn't before I told him that he should. You acted perfectly, Light. I am very pleased. You might think that this all depended upon your performance and making speeches; declarations about your honesty and proficiency and how good your golf swing is, but it was more about someone else telling him that. If you beat him at golf tomorrow then he'll love you forever, so make sure that you do."

I haven't thought about fucking golf for ages. It's basically walking and hitting things occasionally with an overpriced stick, isn't it? I feel a bit shellshocked by the whole thing - literally having my career put in L's hands over dinner with an old man who farts when he laughs. "I haven't played for months. I'm probably shit at golf now," I admit.

"So is Watari, you'll be fine," L assures me, but... no. I notice a narrow backstreet off to my right, and I slide off towards it suddenly. L notices the movement behind, stops and turns to stare at me a few feet down the dark alleyway. "Uh, hello?"

"I just need stop for a minute."

"Are you lying in wait for a hapless cockney prostitute to butcher? Can I be your hapless cockney prostitute?" He laughs and nearly buckles over.

"Yeah, come here," I say, and hold my hand out towards him. It's caught in a shaft of street light and must look horrific from where he is. Just a floating arm cut off at the elbow.

"Thank you kindly, sir. Tuppence and a sultana and I'm yours. What a nice knife you have there, can I 'av a look? Hello there," he grins, slipping in in front of me, and I lean forward, pressing my forehead into his chest. I can feel the breaths and words rumble within him. "What's wrong? I thought that you'd be skipping."

"I don't understand all this sometimes," I tell him quietly.

"What don't you understand?" he asks. When I don't answer, he puts his hand on the back of my neck. "You will. You're your own political whip, and you'll be very good at it because all this is second nature to you anyway." I pivot my head to look to the left and how dark and quiet the street is. Just one street leading off to another, getting progressively smaller or larger, like a maze, and and it never ends. I realise that there is no central point to aim for, and no easy way to find your way back. The pavement shines with a thin sheet of rain as L speaks into my hair. "Is it all too overwhelming for you, Light? Has it hit you that you're going to win the ballot, and you'd have to resign from politics now to stop it from happening? You're going to marry Kiyomi, and you're going to be Prime Minister, and you're going to have your two point four children. Has the war been worth it?"

"You know, you never told me," I say, still staring at the light bouncing off the street, showing all the imperfections.

"Told you what?"

"That you loved me."

"Didn't I?"

"Not exactly, no. You just inferred that you might and then expected me to sing you a love song. It made me think about your hypocrisy. Like when you didn't want me to see anyone else, but you could fuck whoever you wanted."

"Says a man who's going to marry someone in a few weeks and is fucking me in his spare time," he mumbles, and I fall back against the cool wall. I can barely see him since it's so dark and claustrophobic here.

"Why haven't you told me? If it's so important to you, why can't you say it?"

"Have you ever considered the idea that maybe I don't love you?" he asks, pushing my hair back from my face. I can tell that the wax in my hair has made it stand uncomfortably at strange angles from my scalp, and he laughs softly as he touches it and realises what he's done. "Light, I think I killed your hair again."

"It's because you wanted me to say it first," I say, ignoring his attempted diversion. I see just the faintest outline of his features as my eyes adjust to the darkness. He looks quite serious as he concentrates on raking my hair back into place.

"Or it might be that. It could be that I still have some grasp on reality and see that such things would be wasteful on you and hurtful to me. It might be self-preservation."

"You're frightened of me," I whisper, and he looks at me and not my fucking hair.

"At times. You'll always be the storm on my horizon. They can be scary bastards sometimes. You don't know what to expect from them."

"Coward."

"Am I?"

"I don't know, are you?"

"Maybe. Better a coward than stupid. You don't volunteer something like that to someone who would happily drown you and piss off singing a happy tune. Don't get me wrong, I know that you think that I'm the best thing since someone invented the cappuccino, though God knows why. You might not know it, but one day you will, and it'll probably be when I'm not with you anymore. Such is life."

"Oh, you think so?"

"I know so," he says, and it's just a low moan not far away. I watch my thumb stroke his temple. It's such a thin, vulnerable place. Then I lean in and let my nose glide along his.

"Mmm... Listen, I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"But you'll just be saying the words again because you think that I want you to. You don't know what they mean. I'll do what you want without it, so don't bother," he tells me matter-of-factly. Falling back against the wall again, I smile towards my left. Not one person has walked down that street. Maybe everyone's died? I pull out a cigarette and the lighter gives me a warm shock when it lights up L's face briefly, framed by his white collar and black hair. "I thought about you a lot while you were busy buying rings for Kiyomi Takada," he continues, propping himself up against the wall, encircling my free wrist tightly in his hand. "I've just thought about you a lot. I spoke to B about you, actually. A nameless, faceless, jobless you. Don't worry, he thinks that 'Light' is some romantic made-up name I gave you. And I've never asked for a psychological analysis for someone I've fucked before, so that was a first." He takes my cigarettes and takes a shallow draw on it, speaking through the smoke as he passes it back to me. "He's a psychologist, not sure if I ever mentioned that, it's quite useful sometimes. B thinks that you're a psychopath, but then, he is biased. He thinks that everyone is a psychopath, and he can't understand what your problem is, because clearly I'm wonderful."

"Ha!"

"Yes. I said that you can't be a psychopath because you're so good-looking and psychopaths generally aren't."

"Nice logic."

"Shallow, convenient logic."

"So B told you that you should stay away from me, I'm guessing?"

"Plenty more fish in the sea and all that," he says. "I'm not all that old, and I'm pretty well-preserved, I think."

"You're not bad. Quite nice, actually. Very nice. Very, very nice in the right suit. Very, very, very nice when you're -"

"Yes, thank you, I'll stop you there."

"But knowing you, you would have given him a very negative, one-sided summary of me. I bet you didn't tell him that there's no one else like me for you and vice versa."

"I might have littered my description of you with expletives, yes. So, I did all that, but ultimately I realised that it's pointless trying with you, and why should I deny myself anything anyway? I realised it just when you burst in talking about church, all full of yourself and evil intent. Good timing."

"L..."

"I know. I realised that I could force you to say it. I could. Through violence or sexual deviancy maybe. You'd say it now just because you're grateful to me. But it wouldn't mean anything, so what's the point of _me_ saying it? It would make no difference to you. That's what I decided."

"Good. We'll skip it then."

"Your reasons might be similar to mine anyway," he says, and I steady myself on one hand near his head, the cigarette between my fingers just burning slowly to ash as I kiss him, opening and closing mouths because he's just so pliable that he does whatever I tell him to do.

"Oh, sorry," a man's voice says from the street. I just to see his foot disappear out of sight and I laugh when I turn back to L.

"Fag ash Lil," he smiles into my mouth, "Let's go."

* * *

"Light! Thank God! Hold on a second, I have to find somewhere quiet." I hear the rustle of her dress and the slide of nylon as she must have me pressed against her leg as she walks. A couple of seconds later, I hear a door slam. "Ok, I'm back."

I pace around my kitchen. My apartment is pretty bare now as I've had a lot of the more unnecessary things put into storage. Apparently I'm clearing it and putting stickers on what remains for the removal men so they know what should be sold, and things that should be moved. I'll leave L with a bed if he wants to keep this place.

"How are things?" I ask.

"Don't ask. I don't want to talk about it. How are you though?"

"Fine."

"You're eating ok and everything?"

"Kiyomi, I've looked after myself for a long time, I think I can manage to keep myself alive for a few more weeks."

"Ok, testy. Oh, for fuck's sake. Hold on again," she orders me, before shouting abuse at someone. "Sorry about that," she says into the phone. I forgot about her staccato way of speaking.

"Who was that?"

"One of the brats decided that he needed to use the bathroom. You know, if he wasn't so stupid, I'd think that he waited on purpose for when I went in. Anyway, tell me about The Lady. I just heard this morning because it's a cultural vacuum here. Ken wants absolute silence at all times so he can sit around looking sad. Your phone was switched off, by the way. It's such amazing news! Obviously sad, but amazing. What happened? The news on cable say that she overdosed. You know that they don't have a computer here? Did she overdose?"

"Yeah."

"Are you alright? You sound strange."

"I'm fine. It's just a shock, you know," I say, throwing a teabag into a cup. "Everything's a bit uncertain now, that's all."

"So Watari is standing in the interim before they elect a new leader, right?"

"Yes. The vote will be in a few days."

"Have you announced your candidacy yet?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll be PM?"

"Maybe... Kiyomi? Are you still there?"

"Yes, sorry. I just can't believe that it was so easy. Is there any opposition?"

"No one I can't deal with."

"I know you will. I'll get a flight back this afternoon."

"No, why?" I ask, horrified by the idea. She can't change plans like that.

"This is important. I should be with you," she explains. Well, yes. But she's not necessary for it. Election campaigns, yes, but not this ballot. It's just a vote in the House.

"No, you stay there. It looks better," I tell her.

"It looks better if I don't appear to care about my fiancé's campaign?"

"You're in mourning, Kiyomi. Your sister has just died."

"I'm so bored here, Light," she sighs. "Let me come home. I should be seen to support you."

"You are from where you are. The press in this morning's papers is very good, although we're towards the middle pages because of The Lady and everything. No, you're needed there and I need to concentrate."

"You think that I'll distract you? Thanks!"

"I didn't mean it that way, I just meant that... Well, yeah, you're distracting."

"I miss you," she says. I dip the teabag in and out of the water.

"You too," I reply.

"Don't sound like you mean it, Light. You might burst a blood vessel."

"Sorry, it's just that there's someone here."

"And you don't want to sound like a soppy bastard on the phone to your fiancée. That just wouldn't do! Men."

"That's pretty much it, yeah."

"Who's there?"

"L," I answer. He's not here; he's still at work. But I want her to adjust to the idea of him being in the picture. It'll make it easier in the long run.

"You're friends with him again?" she asks.

"We decided to put our differences aside so he could help me with my campaign. He wanted me to pass on his apologies to you for his bad manners when you met him. He had low blood sugar."

"Oh! In that case, good. Have you invited him to the wedding? Ignore what I said and invite him to the wedding."

"Ha, I don't think L's one for weddings. Not my wedding anyway."

"Ask him anyway. Well, you get back to whatever you're doing. Call me later? I'm going to go mad here, Light. These children are disgusting and they're always crying. One of them ate my Tom Ford lipstick."

"God, is it ok?"

"The lipstick? No, he ate it. Limited fucking edition. I'm sorry for swearing but I'm very annoyed about it."

"I meant the kid."

"Oh! Yeah, unfortunately he's fine."

"You're a heartless bitch, Kiyomi."

"I know. Hey, just think, in six weeks, you'll be married to this heartless bitch. Think of that."

"Are you trying to put me off?" I ask, and she laughs.

"No. I'll love our children, I just don't like other people's."

"Hmmm..."

"Are you sure that you're ok? Are you sleeping alright?"

"Yes and yes. What about... what's his name. Your sister's husband."

"Ken."

"Yeah."

"He's so boring," she tells me, and I snort down the phone. "He is! All he does is cry."

"His wife has just died."

"And don't I know it. Anyway, I better go or this kid will probably piss himself just to spite me. Will you call me later?"

"Yeah, around ten your time?"

"Anytime. Light... I'm proud of you."

"Thanks. Buy some clothes while you're away. Nothing too over the top and happy, but not prim. Think sexy conservative, but let the sex come from your shoes. Suits. No trouser suits though. Pencil skirts just above or below the knee and no cheap shit. Try and go for Japanese designers but nothing too avant garde. Classic and no red. Fuck the red. Anything but red."

"I'm on it. Speak you later then," she says, sounding like she's already put the phone down. "Good luck and don't smoke."

"Bye, Kiyomi."


	9. My Memory Lingers

**A/N** Sorry that this is late. The second part of this (the sentimental stapler to the face part) should be finished soon in order to make up for my broken promises.

Achtung! Contains errors, sentimental stuff, The Carpenters, an excerpt from L's long, long backstory, champagne fountains and possibly nuts.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**My Memory Lingers**

* * *

It's appropriate that it's raining.

Today is Naomi's wedding day. It's Jeevas' too, obviously, but I'm not here for either of them. I was invited and I have to be seen to be here and be happy for them, and that's my role for today. It's a shame that Kiyomi's not here. At least then I'd have someone to agree with me and verbalise half of what I think of this whole thing. I got here early to miss the press and to adjust to the slow flood of people, and I stand by the window in one of the only empty rooms to watch the cars arrive. All the women have ridiculous birdlike flower things perched on their heads, and that's appropriate too.

"Hi, Prime Minister."

I turn towards the voice to find Naomi in her wedding dress, posed in the doorway with marble steps behind her leading to who knows where. I think that she's wearing a Vera Wang, but I don't know about these things. I've only involuntarily picked up bits and pieces of information through what Kiyomi's shown me in her magazines, and I don't really have an opinion. She looks nice enough. I hope that Jeevas appreciates it, but I don't think that he's capable of it. He'll just take it for granted like he takes everything for granted. Women are supposed to look like they're wrapped up presents on their wedding day. Stick them on a cake so they blend in with the icing.

"Well, you look beautiful," I say, and she laughs shyly. She never used to be so easily flattered. It's a shame.

"What, this old thing? Please tell me that's alcoholic," she says, instantly serious when she notices the drink in my hand. She walks towards me like she's drawn to it. I sense that she's preparing to go to war so I hand her my vodka, which she takes a gulp of. "Thanks for coming. I wasn't sure if you would after the ballot, I thought that you'd be too busy. Congratulations, by the way. I haven't had a chance to speak to you lately, without other people around, I mean. Just wanted to say how happy I am for you." She rubs my arm, being sympathetic through two layers of clothing.

"Thanks. How are you?"

"Oh, ok. The gallery's doing well. How's Kiyomi?"

"Sad that she couldn't be here. She sends her best wishes."

"She sent me some flowers this morning but I haven't had a chance to call her since she left. Arranging this thing has been a fucking nightmare, Light. How's yours going?"

"Alright, but Kiyomi's doing most of it. I just cry inside when I get the estimates."

"Heh. Well, Matt's dad is paying for this. He insisted. A string quartet and a harpsichord flown in from somewhere in Central Europe that I can't pronounce. I just wanted a pianist to play a Philip Glass piece beforehand." I sigh as she sighs, but for different reasons, and she looks ashamed. "I know what you're thinking, Light. It's not like that," she tells me. She needs to hear how wrong she is.

"You never liked Philip Glass, Raye did. So there's that. Raye was joking when he suggested it."

"Was he?" she asks. Her lips curl upwards at the edges just from the mention of him and the prospect of learning something about him from me. I don't know if he was joking when he said that he wanted Philip Glass music during their wedding. You could never tell with him.

"He also said that a funeral march should be played when you walked down the aisle, so yeah, he was joking. It's not wedding music, it's mad and depressing. Better for a 'bon voyage and enjoy your stay at the mental institution' party."

"Not all of it's like that. I like it now, it's... I know, you're right, it's probably for the best. Still, at least you have some control over things when you pay for it yourself. That's what I'm trying to say."

"I suppose. Well, I'll let you get ready. Half an hour to go. Dum dum duuuum."

"Stop it," she says, laughing weakly for a second as she hits my arm. "Oh God. I'm ok about it, it's just the thought of walking in there with all those people staring at me. Is Matt here?"

"Of course he is."

"Oh!" she gasps, raising her eyebrows. "That's surprising. Is he drunk?"

"No."

"Does he look like he's about to die?"

"No, Naomi," I smile and hope that I look comforting. Her eyes look to the floor like she's going to tell me a secret she really shouldn't.

"He's still upset about The Lady. He drove his car into a bus shelter the other night."

"I heard. L bailed him."

"Yeah. Could you tell him thanks from us. Matt's embarrassed and... well, I just couldn't face it. I have no idea how these things work. I just heard that he was ok, but drunk, and that he was in a cell. I don't know, I'm useless, so I phoned Teru and he must have called Lawliet to sort it out. I don't think that I thanked him when he brought Matt back. It wasn't in the papers or anything!"

"He's used to bailing people, I think. That and story blackouts are unofficial parts of his job. But I'll tell him."

"Thanks," she says. Her expression is disturbingly affectionate, like she's a mother sending her child off to school for the first time.

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm just pleased to see you. It's nice to know that at least one person here is on my side."

"Everyone is here for you."

"No, I don't mean that, but I know how things are. You were always nice to me when no one else was. You were the only person who thought to tell me about Raye when it happened. The only one. The House didn't. My friends disappeared and my family got fed up of me after a week. Just to let you know that I haven't forgotten that you were there for me. I don't think that I thanked you either. I never do what I should at the right time."

"Naomi..."

"No, you didn't have to and you weren't told to, so don't say that. He was your friend and I remember what you were like at the funeral. I've never seen anyone look so sad. Not that I was pleased that you were sad, but it was nice to know that someone else was, apart from me. No one talks about him to me. They don't even say his name, like he never existed. Fuck, my make up." She dabs her fingertips at her eyes and looks disappointed that I haven't replied and have no intention to. I don't want to talk about it and she always wants to talk about it when there's nothing she can do now. I feel a pang of sorrow for her helplessness and I don't know why, but it's easy to push aside. My continued silence eventually makes her put on a happy display to ease the awkwardness. "So, yeah, I'm really happy for you. Kiyomi's lucky. I kind of wish that I'd introduced you earlier," she says, but her happy face doesn't stay long. "I messed up with you, didn't I?"

"No. You had a lucky escape," I smile back at her.

"You were always so kind to me. Why were you kind to me?" she whispers, as though if she speaks any louder she might start crying. Now she's in my arms like a dying swan and I put her there, I think, so no more vodka for me. L would laugh at me if he was here. He'd find this hilarious. I want to step out of myself for a moment and laugh at what I see.

"I have to go, Naomi," I say into her scraped back hair. "Be happy, ok? It's your day."

"I wish he was here, Light."

"I know."

"But he wouldn't have wanted me to be alone, would he? Matt _can_ be nice, you know. I'm sorry that you don't get on." No, he's a cretin. You're marrying a cretin. Buy yourself a gun on the black market and good luck.

"I hope that you're happy. I really do."

"Thanks, Light. You too."

I rub my hand over her bare, cold shoulders before I take the vodka from her hand and leave her there. The move from this quiet room into one which holds a roar of voices hits me like napalm. I'm immediately pounced on by people who fumble and trip over words which they think are suitable for someone like me, and I split in two. Autopilot employed and my mind locks itself in a glass case again. While they talk, in my mind I can still see her standing there, vodkaless, knowing that she has to come in here herself in a little while and that it'll be worse for her. She has no one to blame but herself, but I always thought that after Penber, she became a ship which had lost its captain. Just a ghost of a thing really.

There's a sadness I can't shake since The Lady died, and I find life more difficult than it was before in some ways. I don't know why. I suppose it must be because now I've achieved this much, it's an anti-climax. It's a normal reaction and it shouldn't be over-thought, but I do, and I keep thinking about the moment which pushed me onto this path. I was always going to be something, but that moment gave me a goal that might have meaning, and it's been everything I am since then. The Lady visited my university, and everyone was saying how they hated her; how she was ruining the education system, there were no jobs, and that they were going to throw shit at her. I believed that they would, but I didn't have an opinion either way myself. Then she turned up and shook some hands and smiled, and everyone changed, just like that. I thought how easy it was to change people's opinions by doing nothing at all apart from smiling and saying some well-chosen words. It's just bullshitting, that's all she did, and I thought that I could do that. I could do that better than anyone else, ever. I'd been bullshitting all my life and I realised then what you can do with it.

My stance hasn't changed. Politics was and is a ineffectual system. Why waste your breath arguing against an elitist gang of thugs unless you're one of the thugs? Suddenly, I had something to aim for, and it was a smooth road. I don't think that my father took it seriously until I was made deputy of transport and I showed him proposals I'd drawn up for Mikami, and a few weeks later he was reading about them in the papers. Then my face was in the paper, and who couldn't be proud of that? Anyone could win the seat I won, so that wasn't terribly impressive in itself. It's a very safe seat for our party.

It surprised some people. Others weren't surprised. I was brought up in an atmosphere of obedience. My father never questioned politics, only accepted the tightening noose of red tape they imposed upon his work and what directly affected him. He had an even a lower regard for lawyers, so I was studying law to use it within the police force. That was my drifting plan. He doesn't like L. Why am I friends with him? I can't tell you, you wouldn't understand. Who are you to question me?

But I feel now, over the last few weeks, that I've wasted so much time. I doubt what I'm doing and it's increasingly hard to push those thoughts aside. I fall into thoughts like a sea, and it's so self-indulgent that it makes me sick. L's role to me was to be a pawn, and I don't see him as a pawn anymore. I allowed that to happen. I'm getting married and I don't want to get married, and I sought that myself. I saw her, I bought her. I placed myself in a world of promiscuity, casual drug use and unreported, rampant crime, and sometimes my detachment fails me. I'm embittered in the face of the world's end. The ugliness which once motivated and interested me, doesn't anymore. I hate everyone I see, because I don't know how they can stand this. There's weakness everywhere I turn, and now it's infected me.

I can't think while these faces are gaping at me. After removing myself from the social zoo which leaves me open to being spoken to, I stand against the wall at such a distance that no one will approach me now if they value their lives. Then L walks towards me, cursive and fluid in a roomful of numbers. We look at each other like we're strangers as he walks past me and through a door. I follow him, and I keep following him, because I know that l'll always be a shadow in his footsteps now, always. He said that he wouldn't come to the wedding, but he did, and he came for me. I lose sight of him in the harsh angles of this background maze for staff. As I turn a corner, I can't see him when he should be there. He couldn't walk that fast. I see things that might not really be there sometimes. It's hard to tell if there's no one there to confirm it for you, and I think for a moment that maybe I imagined him. Stupidly, not just in this moment, but that I imagined him entirely, like I'm a man who fell in love with a portrait of someone who's dead. But the panic just simmers, as it often does in dreams, because you never truly believe that it's real. I just walk faster. I need to find him and prove that I haven't made him up and that I'm not chasing something that doesn't exist. It might be better for me if he didn't.

There's a vice-like grip on my arm as I'm pulled suddenly into a narrow room, and I smile in the blackness when the door shuts. Someone is holding me in place while I'm kissing them, whoever they are. I didn't get a chance to see them, so it's just the love of a stranger in a dark place for a moment, and I like that, I always did. The fewer words exchanged, the better. With no words and no lights I can make them whatever I want them to be, except now he's the face behind them all. Something clatters to the floor when I push him against the wall, and I kiss him with an intensity of wanting to be part of him, like he's the one solid thing in the world to hold onto. His mouth tastes of tannin. Maybe it's an assassin who kisses like L and drinks wine? It could be anyone. No, it's his hair. I know him in the dark, it's ok. I don't care if I dreamed him.

"I wondered where you were," I whisper against his lips when he breaks away from me. I suppose that we should whisper. The low rumble of people vibrates through the thin walls.

"I haven't seen you for hours," he replies with a tone of neglect which makes me laugh and take a step backwards. My hand runs along the walls until I find a cord for a single lightbulb over our heads. The sudden whiteness blanks out everything for a moment.

"Four whole hours, L. How did we manage? Oh God, you've fucked up my suit."

He _has_ creased my suit, the bastard. I have to have my photos taken in an hour or so in a creased suit. Part of me is outraged that he can't he just say hello instead of pulling me into rooms and molesting me, but I'm glad that he did. He leans back against the wall and drinks from a glass of champagne which he must have been holding the entire time. The aim might be to come across as louche, but it's more wino than decadent. He rolls his eyes at me as he drinks.

"Hours. Plural," he says, staring at what's left in the glass. "What's your point? And your suit needed to be fucked up. You look better when you're not so perfect."

"I see that you've made no effort in the suit department. A navy pinstripe? Really? The invitation said plain grey."

"I just came from the office. I really didn't give it much thought."

"Clearly. I thought you said that you were too busy for this wedding shit anyway."

"And miss out on this hilarity? I wanted to time it so I'd miss the support acts. No, I've been talking to B. He's having an operation." Ha. I think that must be karma.

"Oh. Are you worried? Is it serious?"

"No. It's the lancing of a cyst but he makes it sound like the equivalent of Mary I of England's reign along with the Kurtz/bull slaughter scene from _Apocalypse Now_. No, I'm not worried," he says, and squints his eyes at me like he's seen something he doesn't like. "Are you alright? You look pale."

"I'm fine. It must be the lighting," I tell him, and he smiles while he lazily pulls at my lapel to straighten out the crease. It won't work. This thing holds creases like it's a piece of paper.

"Ok. So, hello. Sorry about that. I just saw you standing there like you didn't belong and I couldn't resist. We'd better go back in or we'll miss the show."

"I don't know if I can watch Naomi commit suicide in public like this."

"Go on, it'll be fun," he assures me, nudging me with his elbow, and I regret saying anything at all. He loses his smile when I mumble my reply.

"It won't."

"I don't understand you. You're one thing, and just when I think I've got you figured out, you're something else."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. It's not fun to watch someone marry a person like Jeevas."

"Fuck, Light, why don't you marry her? Save her from all this. You're Dustin Hoffman in _The Graduate_. Go for it. Pass a law in favour of bigamy and marry everyone."

"Don't be stupid. And give me that," I say, taking the glass off him and putting it on the shelf. "You can't drink during the ceremony."

"This comedy routine is a ceremony?"

"I'd feel sorry for anyone who marries Jeevas, but Naomi _is_ making a joke out of herself. I hate people who settle and take the easy option."

"If Jeevas is the easy option then I'd hate to see what the difficult options were." His barely there amusement at the situation puts things into perspective for me, and I lean my head back against the door to exhale it all away as I stare at the blank walls around me. There's no reason to care about Naomi and how she fucks up her life entirely. That's her problem and I have to keep my head clear for other things. When I look back at him, he's just watching me. The darkest irises I've ever seen, as if his pupils are permanently dilated, looking at me. I think I must have looked at a tiger in a cage like that once. It was just pacing inside a box. "Why are you so far away?" he asks softly. My face is itching to smile.

"Five minutes," I sigh, and take off my jacket to prevent further damage. There's a brief scuffle which makes me laugh as some more things are knocked over. For a moment, we're just millimetres away from each other's faces before I let him kiss me, and that one moment makes me happier than everything else, because in that moment I feel like he understands me, almost. The initial, almost frightened softness becomes insistent and ridiculous. He really does taste of the inside of a wine barrel. Cabernet Sauvignon. Ten years old, probably. Like jam in a pencil box. It's not wholly unpleasant, but I wouldn't put up with it if he was anyone else. My heart beats right into his chest and his into mine as if they're urging each other to throb at the same time. I don't think there's room for air between us. Again, the now familiar loss of something which is holding me together. There's a helplessness in this warm, even ground field in which I have no control, and I hate it, this drowning feeling. I couldn't remember any of the names and faces in my head if I tried, they're all drowning, he's drowning everything out. Naomi and Penber and Jeevas and Mikami and Touta and Sayu and my parents and everyone else who breathes aren't alive anymore and they never were. We're just some idiots alone behind the bike shed of the world.

I hardly notice that he's gone, because in my mind he's still there. My eyes are closed for a little longer than they should be, and when I open them he's just looking at me like a smug bastard. Yes, I know that you're very good at that. You do it on purpose. I take a fist worth of his hair roughly in my hand. My voice is quiet and smooth with his saliva in my mouth.

"You're a disgusting thing. I feel empty when you're not with me."

"Oh. Be still, my beating heart! You make yourself sound like a car that's run out of petrol. Fucking hell," he laughs as he kneels down.

"What are you doing?"

"Reset the clock. You need cheering up back to your normal horrible self. All this shitty niceness is pissing me off." he says, all nimble fingers on a button and zip. There's a dull music coming through the walls now. And she thought that I'd be there for her, the stupid bitch. No, I'm not nice.

"I'm not being nice."

"Yes you are. Turn off the light, Light. God, that never gets old, does it?"

"You're one of the only people who calls me Light like that."

"Instead of 'Raito', you mean?" he asks, looking up at me briefly. "Yeah. You crazy Japanese and your lack of L's. Ha. I did it again."

"But you're half-Japanese."

"Something like that. Turn off the light then."

"No, I want to see you."

"This isn't daytime TV, you know," he says.

I look down at my hand on his head as he presses the tip of his tongue to an exposed slice of my stomach and his hand reaches up underneath my shirt. Soon he'll be rooting around like he's looking for his keys in the bottom of a bag, or else he'll get rid of obstacles altogether. Then he'll be licking veins and groping and pulling and treating me like one of his fucking ice creams, and I'll fuck his face, come in his mouth, and it'll be over. I anticipate feeling better for it in some respects. He might spit in the champagne glass, but that would be unusual. I might insist that he does because I have a terrible idea which involves mixing it in with the champagne fountain.

The back of my head hits the door.

* * *

I've told the landlord that someone's taking over my lease and that he's helping me move out as he moves in, but L hasn't made any effort to buy anything yet. Maybe he wants me to? Maybe he expects this place to be fully furnished? When I've brought the apartment up in conversation, he's very evasive, bordering on being dismissive. He even suggested that I sell it when Kiyomi comes back in a week's time, though I'm not sure where we'd meet then because his house is too far away for it to be viable really. I avoid arguments and disagreements in favour of a strange uncertainty which makes me uncomfortable and annoyed. I'm dodging arguments like lepers in a leper colony because it's always there under it all and quite close to the surface. At least, to me it is.

And yes, I won the ballot. Being Prime Minister is almost disappointing in its mundanity. I don't seem to work much more than I did, but I talk a lot more than I did, and I go on a lot more visits than I did. Things are planned ahead for me; foreign visits and tours of places which are apparently doing a good job in doing whatever they do. My calendar is pretty full. The press are already hounding me constantly because they want to know me. I'm unusual; a young Prime Minister and a man with a face for the cameras. My face and words sell papers. I'm one of the top search terms on Japan's most popular search engine. They're hounding Kiyomi too in Hong Kong, which she loves, and she hasn't put a foot wrong. I'm very pleased with her clothes. L's helpfully managed to get a lot of the press off my case lately and has threatened some of the paparazzi and freelancers with legal action, which brings some peace back into my life. It literally happened overnight, and I thought that it was intrusive before. They'll either lose interest, because it's early days yet, or it'll get worse.

On the day of the ballot, I lost my Head of Defence. Died horribly. Terrible suicide involving an orange and a wardrobe. I've heard rumours that he liked children a little too much, so it's no real loss. It's strange how these things come out after someone dies but at least that could be covered up now that he's gone. L bought off the police and showed me crime scene photos of Defence's bloated body, suspended by a tie. Even if the full story did come out, it would bear no reflection on me. I won't have people like that in my government. I'm just thankful that he died after he voted for me, because every little counts. I have a reshuffle in mind but I'm keeping Watari as my deputy, mostly because it looks like I'm not ageist. He's useless, but it looks good.

I finished work at five and went for a drink with Touta and a few other people at the reinstated club. It's all very quiet and sensible in a place which looks like God's waiting room. The streets are quiet and deserted outside as it's pissing down and there's been some kind of apocalypse called Friday night. Everyone is on their best behaviour when I'm around, and they drink responsibly. I text L to let him know that I'm here, but there's no reply when a sarcastic one-liner is standard. As time goes on, I call him and find that his phone is switched off, so obviously he's ignoring me for some reason. I call his office, but there's no answer there either. I call Mihael, and it goes to voicemail too. This is fucking irritating.

After a couple of hours, the crowd is dribbling out the doors until eventually there's only my bodyguard and me left at the table. I find his staring presence annoying, so he's given his marching orders. He's the best - that's what I was given to believe – and he takes his work very seriously. He'd take a bullet for me. We just met two weeks ago, but he'd take a bullet for me. He thinks that I'm in mortal danger when I'm out of his sight. His job, he reminds me, is to ensure my delivery to security at the Kantei like I'm an overdue shipment. He rarely gets the opportunity. His usual reluctance to leave makes me wonder if I need to enter an authorisation code into his control panel. Apparently I have to sign another form to say that I've discharged him against his advice. He's suspicious of everyone, which I admire in some small way, and his intense distrust of L is amusing.

Various politicians of various statuses take turns to float around my table for minutes at a time until they merge into one for me. While they speak, a thought flashes through my mind that L could be dead, because that's the most reasonable explanation that I can think of for why he's disappeared off the face of the earth. I don't really believe it, but it's still there, and I find it an interesting thought. If it's true then I want to see it with my own eyes, not hear about it from some idiot's memo like it's just another employee problem. I call the reception at L's building and they tell me he hasn't signed out yet, which brings me some relief, because in my head I saw him bleeding in the driver's seat of his car. I could see it so clearly and calmly, like a film replaying, and every time I add details. He's driving, almost in slow motion, 'Julia' playing as a soundtrack. Then a sudden impact from the side makes and his car rolls over a few times, rocking into place when it hits some parked cars. It leaves scars on the road. The horn is stuck and the brassy, piercing sound cuts through 'Julia', and then I pan in because I'm a camera now. There's something graceful about how broken and crushed his chest is, and my lens takes all the colour and light and shadows. No airbag. Shame. Because he's so lithe, the bones just seemed to shatter inwards, and he's stained crimson while his face is untouched and pale. His eyes are closed like he's sleeping, but he might wake up and smile at me like he loves me and he'd say, 'Isn't this funny?' I might smile back and say: 'Yes. Yes, and you're beautiful. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever known and I hate you for it.' But I don't think about it too much. I really should find something else to fill my head with, like my proposal to speed up the country's execution process. It will, ironically, take a painfully long time to push through because it brings in law experts for the drafting of the bill, and the law is always slow to move. I can't find anyone suitable to draft the bill, so it hangs there. I should get L onto it but I don't think he sees that it's important, as I do. Last night, he said that sometimes I look at him like he's a task that I've been burdened with.

Then he appears and my little fantasy vanishes. He stops to speak to some old man who I don't recognise but instantly despise because of his leather elbow patches on his suit, so I look back at Finance, who looks stressed behind his glasses. Please don't speak to me. I haven't got time for you. It's bad enough having to look at you. There's a quiz in the other room and someone shouts: 'Give it up for Akira!" What am I supposed to give up? My life?

With nothing else to look at that I wish to see or haven't seen before, I notice that L's wearing the same clothes that he wore in my dream. I put him in those clothes in my dream even though I didn't see him this morning. How strange.

Mihael leaves L's side and stands at my table like a sommelier in a gay bar. He looks tired and worn down, jangling his car keys anxiously in his hand. Finance leaves because I'm not paying attention to him anymore. I can't say that I miss him.

"I'm leaving L with you," Mihael tells me moodily, as if it's all my fault.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I have _no_ idea. He came in this morning looking like he had flu, but then he found his vodka and he's been like this ever since. You have him. I've officially clocked off as of now."

"Is he ill or drunk?"

"Both? Don't ask me, I'm not a nurse."

"Who's not a nurse?" L asks as he slams heavily onto the chair beside me, holding a bottle of whiskey which he's obviously managed to frighten the barman into selling. He seems fairly drunk in a rolling, slurring way already, and he's a fearless, argumentative kind of drunk, which leads into a depressing kind of drunk, so this is not the way I had envisioned my evening. "Mihael, don't you dare go!" he shouts. Mihael had tried to make an exit that a ninja would be proud of, except that he couldn't look more conspicuous.

"I have to be somewhere. You owe me three hours overtime," he replies. "I'll remind you on Monday."

"Let's call it four and sit down. You'll like this a lot," L assures him. Unfortunately, he then notices me. "Hello! You look very dashing in a political way."

"I hear that you've decided to be an alcoholic."

"Oh, Mihael exaggerates. I started early, yes, but, alas, I am still vertical."

"Is there a reason why you haven't answered your phone?"

"Not really," he laughs, tipping my wine into a vase of flowers in the centre of the table and replacing it with some whiskey that I do not want.

"So you just forgot then."

"No, I was held up."

"We arranged to meet here at six," I remind him.

"I know."

"It's half eight now."

"I know that too. Oh, hold on, is it really? This day is so long. Will it ever end?"

"So it slipped your mind."

"You didn't. I do apologise, Prime Minister. I know how you rely on punctuality and ironed socks -" he says, but stops and stares at something behind me. "Oooh, he'll be here in a minute, he's just at the bar. Light, there's an old tart I'd like you to meet. He was a friend of my mother's and then he latched himself to my father. My father loved the aristocracy and their noses and hollow eye sockets. They have such historical noses, don't you think? Like a bird's beak. Really, their bone structures are the only things that make them interesting as a subculture and as human beings. I haven't seen him since I was seventeen. Well, I didn't really see him then because I was face down on a snooker table at the time. I always ended up that way when he was around."

I scrunch my face up in confusion and turn to look again at the ageing man at the bar. "Why were you face down on a... oh."

"Yes, darling boy. He doesn't exactly remember who I am, so this should be entertaining. He's one of the most prolific fuckers in the UK education system. Apparently he has a book somewhere which is a list of everyone he's ever had because he has the worst memory and likes to be reminded of what a repulsive shit he is. Then again, that was a school myth doing the rounds back in the day, so I can't testify to its veracity. I choose to believe that it's true and that he's an anthropologist or sexual historian in that way. It'd be so nice if it gets published one day. I'd love to see my entry. Ha. Entry. Now, you're going to have to be very, very nice to him because I'm not going to be and he needs some reason to stay at the table until I'm finished with him. He'll stay for you; you're just his sort, you and Mihael. Not that he's terribly discriminatory. Here he is. Lord Astbury! Please sit down. Light, Mihael, this is Lord Astbury. He's a professor of languages and specialises in Japonics, so I'm not sure why I'm surprised to find him here."

I dip my head when the tweed man cracks his vertebrae into some jittering bow, and that's all I can manage. Being flung into unknown territory with only L's drunken ramblings to base an opinion on makes me reserve my judgement.

"A pleasure to meet you," the man says in Japanese, all camp affability and olde worlde as he beams a smile at us all and sits next to L, turning to stare at him with a look of tentative recognition. "I remember you now. Are you Lawliet's son?"

"I was that," L nods slowly.

"Your mother was a fascinating woman. Is she well?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen her for over twenty years. My sister still speaks to her so I presume she's still alive. I haven't been told differently."

"She moved back to Aomori, didn't she?"

"I think that she sent me a postcard from there but, again, it was over twenty years ago. I think she's forgotten that she had other children."

"Shame, shame," he sighs, shaking his head until his dyed comb over is dislodged, revealing a bald spot of pink scalp. "But... have we met? You look familiar."

"I'm several bed notches of yours, yes. It depends how you keep tally, by the boy or by the deed," L says. Mihael looks at me and I look at him. I think we both look confused and horrified.

"Oh," Astbury sounds out, obviously shocked himself since his mouth purses into a loose 'o' like an echo. L seems pleased by the effect that he's had and leans on the table towards him in a psychotic storyteller mode.

"Let me remind you. I was fifteen and you fucked me in a stable, which was illegal. Not the stable, since the setting wasn't particularly important, although I think you frightened the horses, and that probably upset my father a lot more than you fucking his youngest son did. It's an interesting piece of trivia which might jog your memory." Mihael stands suddenly and squeezes past the back of L's chair. "Sit down," L tells him. "I have to speak to you. It's important."

"I've heard enough, thanks," he replies awkwardly.

"Fine, go, go. But I'll be phoning you later. Do not switch your phone off."

Mihael looks like he's going to say something but nothing comes out except air. His shoulders fall and he leaves, probably as disgusted as I am by who's sitting at the table. I look back at Astbury and try to imagine him twenty years younger, because he looks as virile as a piece of carpet as he is now. All sorts of images involving stables and a young, thin L being jolted all over the hay by this tweed suit makes me want to follow Mihael and throw up into a toilet. My head snaps back towards L's voice when he picks up the story, and I realise that my mouth is hanging open.

"Where was I?" L asks the ceiling. "Oh, yes, then there was a time in your house, but you didn't do anything to me then. Two weeks later at my father's fiftieth, you did. Having thought about it, I think you could only do it when you were in my father's house. Do you have a therapist?" he asks, but Astbury can't reply, he looks like he's dying. "Yes. Fifteen," L smiles maliciously as he reaches for the whiskey bottle. "Didn't know that, did you? Very careless of you. Don't worry, I'm not going to sue you or anything. It was all my fault after all, wasn't it? That's what my father told me. Trust no one. Anyway, have a drink, you old fucker, this whiskey is nearly as old as you are. This is the Prime Minister of Japan, by the way. Isn't he _ridiculously_ good-looking?"

Astbury still looks stunned and stuck to his seat like he's just been hooked up to a car battery. He turns his head slowly to stare at me, and I can't stand the gluey, milky yellow of his eyes and the fact that L's pouring him a wine glass full of sixty-year-old whiskey. The man seems unable to even comment on what L's saying, let alone refute it. He's as guilty as sin.

"The Prime Minister?" he eventually coughs out.

"Mmmm..." L sounds out, dreamily. They're both staring at me now. One in shock, and the other with something like pride, dangling an example of his own success and affiliation in front of a man he despises. "Don't be fooled by a beautiful face," he tells him, like it's a secret. "I'd _love_ to see what he'd do to you. You have to have a very strong heart to live through this man, so you'd be dead within ten minutes. You're lucky that I'm giving you the opportunity of looking at him, because that's the most you could ever hope to do. So, what brings you to Japan?" he tacks on with a bizarre cheerfulness.

"I'm... erm. I'm engaged to do a new translation of _The Pillow Book_," Astbury stutters.

"What an admirable occupation you have," L says while pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The old man grasps at some semblance of having a polite conversation by trying to ignore what's been said.

"And what do you do now?"

"Many things. I trained as a barrister in England."

"Really? You... errr. You must work for your father's firm then?"

L pauses to drink his whole glass of whiskey in one go and coughs out gasps from his breathless lungs. "Woo. That wasn't a good idea, was it? I might regret that later. What? My father's firm? Yes. Of course, for it was expected of me as the only dutiful son with half a brain and a need to please. Speaking of, have you seen my father recently?"

"A few months ago."

"_Wonderful_!" L exclaims, hitting the table with his fist. "How is he?"

"Not too well, I'm sorry to say."

"So I hear. He's dead, actually."

"Pardon?" Astbury says. My mouth has dropped open again as I stare at L in disbelief, but he appears to be unaffected and void of any blue emotion. Just drunk.

"I'm afraid so. The firm called me this morning," he says. "We should have a toast to him. To the old guard. Jesus, are they playing The Carpenters? What is going on today?"

"L..." I manage to say. Words fail me.

"I'm perfectly ok, Light. It wasn't unexpected but The Carpenters are. Now, Lord Astbury, you probably won't remember this, but since we're having such a nice catch up, I'll say it anyway. When I was seventeen, you sent me a photo of myself which you'd cut out from the paper when I won the junior tennis championships. You wrote your address over my face. Do you remember that?"

Astbury is struggling to swallow and his lips have gone so visibly dry that I think that they might flake off entirely. He looks like he's completely drying out as his nose is flaking paper-like shreds on to his tie. I've never seen such a despicable, worthless creature in my entire life, and I've met Jeevas. I want to make his heart stop and to see him as ashes.

"No, I'm sorry. Are you sure?"

"Very. You know why you don't remember? Because I turned up. You always made me sick, but I turned up. What do you think that says about us both? I'll tell you. You were a dirty bastard, and I was going to kill you."

"We're going," I say, standing.

"Or at least smack you about a bit," L continues, ignoring me. "But you were so pathetic that I didn't have the heart to do it. You cried. Don't you remember? Or does that happen all the time?"

I don't like how kindly he's speaking now, like he feels sorry for the incredible cunt, so I grab his arm and try to drag him to his feet. "L, come on."

"Excuse me, I have to go, but I'm glad that I saw you again," L says to the stupefied man, brushing my hand away as he stands. "You're nearly the same age as my father, aren't you? When people your own age start dropping, you must know that your time is really running out."


	10. Maybe You'll Get A Replacement

**A/N **Stapler to the face, as promised. This follows straight on from the last chapter/glorified screenplay and is the end of an arc, if fics can have arcs. If this fic can have arcs. I want an arc, basically.

The reviews cheered me up in an unimaginable way, so thank you. The final, final, final bit of L's backstory he babbles about is for thebarstool, ElizabellaLight and future relevance. I swear to God that I could not edit it down. Sorry about a lot of things (you'll know what when you read them) as well as the melodrama and regurgitated, vile insults. This couldn't get more AU or sweary. Good old Light in this cracks me up. 'NO! Feels! I have to think of something boring and get a beta blocker prescription! TWEED!' It's ok, I've had words with myself about it.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**Maybe You'll Get A Replacement, There's Plenty Like Me To Be Found**

* * *

The whiskey and his day-long drip feed of vodka has hit L like a forklift truck before we've even left the club. It turns him into a wordless zombie of pent-up anger as we step outside into the secure, enclosed and empty car park. He can only hold his whiskey bottle by the neck as he walks a few steps behind me. Our footsteps are muted by the sound of rain on car bonnets while my veins are almost audibly burning. I can't have that, so I search for something else.

Space is at a premium here. The upkeep and elitism of the club is one of the reasons why it was shut down in the first place. It was seen as an unnecessary expense by The Lady, mostly because she never wanted to go there herself. I think she only came here once, and that was only to have a piss. It _is_ an unnecessary expense, but then, so are all the politicians. I'm streamlining the expenditure of other departments, and in doing so have found quite a lot of spare change to warrant reopening it. Only club members can use this car park, and as politicians like to see themselves as a different species from 'the public', it panders to their sense of self-importance. It's good to provide something for the workers; it lifts the flagging cock of morale and will be a fundamental reason for why I'll remain popular and entrusted with their unwavering support. I thought that it was a good idea, although on the surface it seems trivial and altruistic. Nothing is ever as it seems.

L stumbles and swears blame at some imagined thing that tripped him up. I don't know if it's worth speaking to him, but the thought that his father is dead and that his reaction is not to care very much, makes me think that it was just something he said to overwhelm Astbury into a heart attack. L is a man who personally hunted down a pregnant woman who accidentally smashed the brake light on his car while reversing and drove off without realising, just to shout at her. His viciousness and complete lack of pity and rationality at times in which he feels a personal injustice is like a particularly aggressive power top for me, and I think about it often during lunchtimes. I can't say that I don't actively encourage him when I'm not the source of that injustice, and sometimes even then; it completely depends upon my schedule for the next day. He holds grudges as other people would hold onto the side of a cliff for fear of falling, so it wouldn't surprise me if he used a lie to inflict the ultimate revenge upon someone he hates. He's also a man who shed an unashamed tear when his favourite pastry chef died, so I find it hard to accept that, if his own father died, that he would skip the grief process and go straight to not giving a shit.

"Is your father really dead?" I ask him.

"You think that I'd make that up?"

"What happened?"

"Well, he kind of _died_, Light. Oh, you mean how? From what I've been told, it sounds like a stroke to me. The housekeeper found him dead in his chair this morning. Face flat on the desk. Dead for hours."

"The firm actually told you that? God, that's heartless."

"No, I phoned up the housekeeper to find out the specifics. I like specifics, they make things more real. Now I can see him there with his nose squashed on top of some reference books like he was killed by work. Judge Lawliet, killed in the study by a law book. I'll probably end up the same way. Can't even say that he died from a life well lived because he was practically a Puritan. Fuck me, my head feels like a musical is going on in there."

"I can't believe that you found out and went to work."

"No, you can't believe that I didn't tell you as soon as I found out. You were asleep and what was the point of waking you to give you some wonderful news like that when you won't care about it anyway? He was my father, not yours. I don't want to exhaust you by making you feel obligated to be sad for me. I can do without the pretence," he spits, and then he actually spits on the ground. His voice sounds like poison seething under the surface. I have plenty of that for him too, and if he insists, then I'll give it to him undiluted. I stop walking, my car a few feet away, and it takes a drunk, lengthy second for him to notice.

"That's unfair, L," I tell him as he lazily turns around.

"I am unfair. If it was the other way around, I wouldn't care. Your father is a dick and so was mine. Just one less stain on humanity, I think."

"Shut your face. My father is a good man and he deserves your fucking respect even if you have none for me."

"He deserves none of my respect or anything else," he says loudly. With his newfound energy, he strides away from me, and I find myself walking after him without even considering it.

"Um... Hello? My car's here."

"You're observant." Oh, excellent, lay it on me. Dealing with a petulant man who has soaked his brain in society's endorsed reality buffer is exactly what I wanted.

"L, get in the car. Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to Mihael's."

"No, you're not," I sigh, putting my hand on his shoulder to steer him back towards the car instead of the gate, but he shrugs me away as he spins back towards me.

"For once in your life, will you leave me alone? You and your eyelashes."

"Shhh. Stop shouting."

"Shhh yourself and fuck off while you're at it."

"I'm not letting you go to get yourself mugged and killed. Who on earth would I hire to do my PR?"

"Ok. Firstly, if someone tried to kill or mug me or even talk to me right now, they'd be the dead ones, not me. Secondly, or thirdly... I don't know, I've lost count, but Mihael lives around the corner anyway."

"He's probably not even in. Come on, you're being stupid."

"I don't know what you're doing this for. Hanging around on your own for hours like some poor sod who can't accept that he's been stood up. It's not like we've ever been wild with happiness," he says, and it shocks my voice into a pathetically quiet tone.

"We've been happy."

"Light, you'll never be happy. And as for me, I can honestly say that I've never been happy while I've been with you."

I have some words which spring to mind in reply, but they're not the kind you'd say to a drunk unless you want a trip to the hospital. He snorts out a laugh, amused by my apparent loss of words.

"It's true," he says. "Sometimes you like something which isn't good for you. That's what you are to me."

"Stop it."

"You know it's true."

"You're drunk and I'm not listening to you. Just get in the car."

I forcefully take both of his arms in anger to drag him back if I have to. I didn't expect him to have any kind of coordination to fight me with any conviction, so I'm surprised when I see the flash of his watch catching the light like a knife in the dark as he shakes off my hands and grabs me by the throat, marching me backwards and slamming me against the side of a car. The car's alarms go off as my back hits it, and as it does, I feel the full force of L's hand wrapped under my jaw. My hand instinctively covers his like a claw and my neck strains with the thrill of constriction. I think for a moment that by not doing anything in retaliation, it's almost as if I'm helping him. His voice is low and disturbingly calm as he speaks.

"Don't you dare be fucking nice to me. I need to think and I can't do that when you're around."

"Let me go. There are cameras," I say, coughing as my jaw hits his hand when it moves. He hasn't cut off my air, it's just uncomfortable. What makes this worse is how disgusted he looks as he watches and sneers at me from arm's length. I can't kick him because of the camera. If I don't do anything, does that make me look weak? Or if I _do_ knee him, does that make me look like I condone violence? I am a pacifist. I am a pacifist.

"You know, when I see you like this, you're not so special. You're just a completely blank slate which takes on the characteristics of those around you. You like what you're told to like and you do what you're told to do."

"Great, thank you. Now let me go and get in the car."

"Yes, Prime Minister, three bags full, Prime Minister. To me, you'll always be that nobody riding on Mikami's coattails. You're here because I put you here, never forget that. It kills you, doesn't it, being indebted? And you always thought that I was an idiot, didn't you? I used you, not the other way around, and I got what I wanted from you, so don't worry, you owe me nothing. I don't love you. I don't love anyone, so it's pointless you trying to make me do something that I don't want to do, because I could not care less about what you think or say. I know, I know. Yeah, in you I saw a storm coming. I was flattering you, Light. I only said it so you'd get in my bed. Flattery really _does_ get you everywhere. I've been lying to you for a long time. I lie to everyone."

"What else have you lied about?" I ask.

"I couldn't possibly remember it all."

"To me. What have you lied about to me?"

"Again, the instances are far too numerous to recount."

"That's a lie in itself," I say, and see his eyes widen, like he's realised something. The car alarm stops screaming for a breather after realising that nobody is coming to save it, and L lets go off my throat.

"You're such a bastard," he whispers, rubbing his closed eyes with his fingertips. "You know me too well. I'm going to miss you."

"Let's just go," I say, and put my hand on his arm. I should be angry, but I'm not. I want him to take back everything he said and admit that he's just drunk before he passes out, otherwise his words will buzz around my head and never stop. Because there's some truth in there somewhere, it's not just barking noises. But he doesn't do that. He laughs at me.

"My _God,_ you're gullible. You know what people are to me, Light? They're just like this bottle of whiskey. When they're finished, I just get a new one. You're finished. And so am I."

* * *

Well fuck him then. When someone walks away, you should let them. He walked away, so I got in my car, went back to my apartment, and haven't thought of him since. I can't sleep because of the throbbing ache in my head which refuses to incinerate itself to nothing. I watch the news but switch it off when my name is mentioned. I find it strange how he's probably drooling whiskey-tinged saliva on a pillow while I can do nothing but sit in a chair. It's like he's passed on some horrible legacy to me and that it's my burden now.

The sun is curving over the buildings outside, casting shafts of light and shadow around the room. My head turns slowly to the side when there's a slow, timid knock at the door, but apart from that, I don't move. I'm not being obstinate, I just want to wait and see if it's worth moving for. A minute later, there's another knock, but more insistent this time. I feel like I'm made of glass until my muscles kick in and remember what they're supposed to be. By that time, I've opened the door and I'm confronted with L looking like rat that's been drowned, stomped on, poisoned and electrocuted.

"I lost my tie," he says.

"And your coat?"

"Yeah. And my jacket. And I've forgotten where I left my car yesterday. But I still have some clothes on and I still have my shoes, so it could be worse."

"You could have just let yourself in. You have a key."

"I didn't know whether you'd want to see me."

"And why wouldn't I want you to wake me up for no reason at six in the morning on my day off?"

"Sorry."

"Getting drunk at my age still has that spark of hedonism, but at your age it's just sad."

"I am sad," he says, looking like he's been dropkicked around the room. I roll my eyes and walk back inside, leaving him him standing in the open doorway. Even after I've sat in the chair again, he's still standing there like a dipshit.

"What? Are you a vampire now?" I ask. "Do you need an invitation? Come the fuck in, Edward."

"I know that this is a cliché," he says, shutting the door behind him, "but I really am sorry and I really didn't mean what I said. I thought that you're supposed to forget all the things you've done if you drink enough. Why does it never work out that way? Maybe you just forget the nice things that you did."

I extend the silence before I speak. I hope it hurts him.

"Painkillers are on the table," I tell him, pointing at a small box so colourful that it would inspire optical pain if you weren't suffering before.

"Why? Do you have one of your headaches?"

"You mean after having you shout in my face and pin me up by the neck again? Yeah, I had a headache. You could have just kicked me in the shin. That would have been appropriately childish and unreasonable."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"Really? I should thank you then. Thank you for strangling me. Was Mihael home, or did you end up on a park bench?"

"Mihael was there. I fell asleep on his sofa and completely ruined his night, I think."

"That is quite a gift of yours."

"Look, I'd understand if you didn't want me here, but I was really fucking upset and I still am really fucking upset. More so now because of what I said to you. Where are you going?" he asks when I start walking towards the bedroom.

"I'm going back to bed."

"Oh."

The incredibly depressing tone he manages to express in that one word makes me pause and walk back towards him. I'm reluctant to because I was planning on spinning out my sense of mild injury for the purpose of entertainment, but I can't be bothered now. He presses his thumb into the pad of my hand which hangs limply by my side. It's some weak gesture of apology and thanks, I suppose, just because I'm giving him airtime when he expected to be ignored. He reminds me of myself when I'd been prescribed some antibiotics for a chest infection. I was just so delirious and grateful for what I perceived as a kindness that I wanted to kiss my doctor and pass on my disease.

"Give me notice in future if you're going on a bender so I can get the hell out of Tokyo, ok? I'm sorry about your father and your sexual experiences as a teenager and any other issues you have, but don't ever speak to me like that again. You will never be able to find your balls after I've finished kicking them back to kiss your kidneys. God, you look terrible. Brush your teeth."

A few minutes later and under sheets, I hear his footsteps in the room and close my eyes until he sits on the edge of the bed with his back to me. I watch him, silhouetted against the sky, as he chases down some tablets with the glass of water in a pained, shuddering way, like he's arthritic. I think he took four tablets when he's only supposed to have one or two. Maybe he shouldn't have any at all? They're prescription tablets, because the over-the-counter ones never work. Not that these work for me either, most of the time. I remember an article I read about how the pharmaceutical companies put acetaminophen in some medications, which is one of the major causes of liver failure. They do it to kill off the opiate junkies, I think. It doesn't actually work in any way, it's just a poison. Officially, it's there to prevent abuse, but it's never like that really. What if I'm letting him overdose in front of me? I don't know what happens if you take four tablets under normal circumstances, let alone when you're still eighty percent proof. What's the dosage on those things? Maybe he should eat something or, no, he might be sick. Maybe he _should_ be sick so then -

"I'm sorry that I made you a part of that, Light," he says, interrupting my train of thought and replacing it with a new one.

He shouldn't be sorry. Lord Bastard should be sorry, and I'll make him sorry for what he's done to me. I wish Astbury despair, and he'll get it. It'll be my present to him before his inevitable slow and painful death. One of the only good things about being forced to stay awake is that my mind ticks like a fucked clock. I find some of my greatest, furthest-reaching plans this way. They just come to me like lost souls wandering under a big sky, and when I find them, they bring a calm certainty. I wonder if all this shows through my eyes and that L can see it from where he is. I like to watch him in the silence and see his awkwardness within it. What I know of love is that it's rage; a sort of floundering seizure of rage without direction. It will not be put in order. It will not listen to reason. I think, perhaps, that it wants to kill you. I don't know when it changed me, but I miss who I was before. Maybe the trick of living a long life is to be loveless. I can almost feel the years seeping away.

"Do you want to ask me anything?" he mumbles, like he doesn't want an answer but thinks that he has to ask anyway. My leg feel strangely heavy and stiff, having been crossed over the other one for a long time in that chair. I don't think that I moved an inch for hours and hours, come to think of it.

"Like what? Will you marry me?" I ask, ratcheting my dry lips across my dry teeth as he laughs and lies down, facing me. "No, the defence rests, your honour. I mean, you're obviously not feeling great right now, so that question's redundant. Don't worry. You won't see Astbury again."

He looks at me with some deep-rooted concern that makes me want to tell him that I've killed Astbury, just to see what his reaction would be. But it would be a lie, unfortunately.

"What have you done?"

"Nothing yet. I'm still in the planning stages. Still, he's out of the country and if he's not gone by Wednesday, then I'll have him arrested. There have to be some perks to this job."

"And for what reason would you have him deported?"

"I don't want him here."

"You can't get rid of everyone you don't like. Believe me, I've tried."

"We'll see."

"Just leave it, really. I appreciate it, but don't. I saw him a month ago in Ginza and I just crossed the road. He was invited to the club by that ingratiating little man in Culture, apparently."

"That knob. He knows that he can't invite civilians to the club but he keeps doing it anyway. He's going to get it in the neck on Monday."

"Ha! Civilians. Sack him."

"I'm going to reshuffle him to death. But why did you speak to Astbury? You made me sit at a table with someone like that. You poured him a fucking drink."

"I couldn't resist speaking to him. It seemed like fate that I see him today of all days. Life has decided to give me a pummeling."

"Why didn't you take him to court?"

"Light, you're taking about him like he's a rapist. He's severely lacking in basic morality, but he's not that, not really. It was a case of an older man with an agenda, and a curious boy who was looking for attention and got out of his depth. I don't hate him anymore. I hated him once, but mostly because my father sided with him instead of me, it's as simple as that. Time has not treated him wenicest there's some poetic jusate there at least. He has some terrible clothes and I've no idea what's going on with his hair, but he wasn't that bad to look at back then, if you like that sort of thing. Can't say the same for his personality though. Looking at him now, you'd think he was a lovely old grandfather to someone."

"I wouldn't say that. None of that makes any difference anyway. You're making excuses for him just to shut me up so we can forget _all_ about it."

He looks at me like he did in my dream. 'Isn't this funny?'

"Oh. Your face. Come here," he sighs, pulling my head towards him to kiss my forehead. I feel an impending satisfaction of vengeance. I think of Astbury sobbing and not knowing why so many bad things have happened to him. "Don't feel sorry for me, please," L says into my hair. "Everything I've ever done has been for a reason. I used Astbury for a few reasons, but it was mostly to get my father's attention. I wanted to shock him into some display which would show that he cared for me, but he didn't, so there you go. I'll never know if he did now."

"I'm sorry about your father dying and everything, but he _was_ a dick."

"Thanks," he grins tiredly. "Hey, tell me a secret. You know some of mine now. Make it an interesting one."

I kiss the base of his throat and the stubble on my neck drags against his shirt. We must look like gay hobos dressed in stolen clothes in this freezing room. His feet are like sculpted ice under the covers. I have no idea what to tell him, so I say the first thing that comes into my head.

"Sometimes I want to erase everyone so there's no one left except you and me."

"And bang goes your electorate," he laughs softly. "I've been a shit, haven't I? Did I hurt you?"

"In what way?"

"Your neck."

"Oh. No."

"How long were you waiting at the club? Two hours?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You wouldn't have waited five minutes for me once. I remember it, actually. It was three years ago or something. I was a couple of minutes late and you'd already left. It was ok, it just made me step up my game, but now you wait for two hours in a place that you hate until I turn up, and I'm a bastard even then. You could make me complacent. "

"Yeah, yeah."

"Still, in a lot of ways, I think I preferred you before. You were yourself then, and now you don't know what you are. I always destroy things."

"You haven't," I say dismissively. "If it makes you feel any better, I was five minutes away from leaving."

"Good. You should have. That does make me feel better."

"How's your carpet burn, by the way?" I ask, turning his face to one side. There's definitely a darker, angry-looking mark there which makes me take in an amused intake of breath. "Ooooh, nasty. Sorry." I slap the side of his face lightly as I click my tongue with guilt.

"I've had worse. I can't even feel my face now anyway. These painkillers of yours are fucking amazing things," he tells me. I don't know about that. I've probably taken a few years off his life by accident.

"I suppose that you're going to tell B all about it."

"If I called him every time I'm injured in battle then I'd be on the phone most of the time. I told him about my father this afternoon, but that's it."

"So you could phone _him_."

"I wasn't avoiding you. Well, yeah, I was. B's just very good in a crisis and I don't know how you're going to react to anything from one second to the next. He told me not to drink and to go home, and did I do either of those things? No. Ah, that reminds me, don't pay me for yesterday. I did absolutely no work."

"Noted."

"I had a photo of my father and I, so I was looking for it. It took me a long time to accept that it's missing. I just needed to find it, but it's gone."

Oh shit. No, it's ok, I can get the photo from the Kantei and hide it under some papers in his office. He'll just think that he overlooked it when he finds it on Monday. I'm going to move the PR department to the offices at the Kantei anyway; it just makes sense. PR is one of the most important areas for a Prime Minister and I should have them close to hand, so to speak.

"It can't be gone," I say. "It's probably under all that shit on your desk. Ask the cleaner next week."

"Why would she have it?"

"I don't know. She might have dropped it so she's getting the glass replaced."

"No. No, she wouldn't do that. It was the only one I had that didn't make one or both of us look like we were a taxidermy exercise gone wrong. I don't know if B has a copy. He took the photo, which is another reason that I liked it."

"It'll turn up, L. You wouldn't be able to find anything in your office if you were hitting the vodka all day. Leave it until Monday. You'll find it."

"I don't think so, not now. You know what's funny? It's always been on my desk, wherever I've been, always. It's been there since I was eighteen and I often wished that it wasn't, but I kept it there all the same. Now, the one time I want to see it, it's not there. Why do you think that is?"

"If you don't look after your things then you shouldn't be surprised if they go missing."

"You're right. Again," he nods. It's nothing that can't be rectified on Monday, but I wish I could get the photo for him now. I regret taking it. I don't even know why I did. He'll just think that I was being vindictive if I admitted to it, and I don't think that I was. Well, maybe a little bit. It just felt like it was mine. "How was the House today?" he asks.

"Fine. You missed a good show."

"I'm sorry about that too. I like your shows."

"I slaughtered that complete shit," I say, the glory sliding between my teeth.

"In the opposition? I'm guessing that you didn't slaughter one of your own party's shits. In public, anyway."

"It was a good moment."

"So, you had a good day and I ruined it."

"You just gave me a headache. I have good fucking ideas but they'll argue against everything if they weren't the ones to think of it."

"Hmmm... They do that," he says, his attention drifting.

"What are you thinking?"

"Me? Oh, sorry. I was wondering what people will say about me when I die."

"That's uplifting. They'll probably say: 'That man was ninety percent sugar and ten percent bastard,'" I reply, and my smile hurts my face because of how broad it is. My head feels congealed with a kind of manic overtiredness. Cold air hits my teeth but I can't stop laughing, even though it's not that funny really.

"I'm glad that you think that my obituary is so funny, Light," he says, curving himself along my side. I rest my chin on the top of his head, since it's there. His hair feels soft and thick in these sensitive early mornings as his breath ghosts warmly across my chest. "Tell me what you're going to do."

"Tomorrow? I have a meeting about having kitchen fitted. That's as interesting as it gets."

"No, I mean about Kiyomi," he says, laying his arm across me. His finger presses into a gap between my ribs like he's trying to wake me up to the enormity of what he sees as a problem. He hasn't asked about Kiyomi and I haven't spoken about her. Everyone must have read about her sister's funeral and fuckups in the paper, so he couldn't have avoided that, but we've acted as if she doesn't exist. There are just fleeting mentions which I brush off like leaves.

"I don't have to do anything about her. She's not back for another week," I answer.

"This situation is so convenient for you. The universe wants you to have an easy life. And now you're Prime Minister, just like you wanted."

"The universe throws situations at me and I just make the best of them."

"Are you saying that I'm the best that you could come up with?" he asks. I breathe out a laugh and kiss his hair. His brain is under there somewhere.

"I knew that you'd come around eventually, you stupid bastard," I tell him, and his body goes limp beside me as he sighs. Yes, it must be annoying to realise that your righteous indignation crumbles so easily. I can only imagine.

"I was interested in seeing this out and that's the only reason I'm here. Well, that, and to apologise. You also have a bed and I needed to lie down."

I draw away from him so I can see his face, which he doesn't seem to like, so he rolls onto his back again and stares at the ceiling.

"What do you mean, see it out?"

"We'll just see less and less of each other until eventually you won't even recognise me on the street. It happens. I was always making small talk with men and they had to remind me that I was in love with them once and said that I'd never leave them. David, for example."

"Who's David?"

"Oh, David! Now then. There's a story."

"Do I need popcorn for this?"

"Maybe. I don't know why but he's been in my mind today and he has no reason to be, considering. I haven't thought about him for years, but I suppose he's relevant right now. He was too kind to me and I wasn't used to it. My father was... I don't know. I loved him more than he loved me. Or maybe he did, but he never showed it. And I grew up like that, the same as him. People like that mould you into versions of themselves. And my mother was just not there at all, as you know. David turned up at the wrong time for me. No, it was the right time. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here with you now - I would have pissed off years ago. He gave me the concept of patience. But when I've thought about him, it's always been from the perspective of me, as I was; some kind of feral, hungry for success, affection-starved brat. And now I have this new perspective. His perspective."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter," he breathes out, and my face rises and falls with it before he speaks. "So, David was and still is, for all I know, a human rights lawyer. This was years ago, when I was a student. I have no idea where he is now, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was knitting in a monastery or something like that. He was thirty-something and should have known better, and I was... nineteen? Twenty? God, I can't remember, it was so long ago. The Germans wore grey, he wore blue, all that. I probably wore a fucking Umbro t-shirt. I don't remember a lot of it because I was off my head most of the time, but I must have been quite taken because I skipped an exam so I could follow him around. Of course, it ended badly; the exam skipping and him. He went to Africa on some charitable mission like a moron."

"Oh, one of _those_ people."

"Yes. He was the most honest, selfless, decent person I've ever met. Always took cases on for nothing, so he was always going to be poor, but he didn't mind. He was a brilliant lawyer, really. I don't know what I was thinking. He made me realise that I was born to be a horrible person, so I should thank him for that. Before then, I actually thought that I was quite nice, and it's not good to be so self-deceptive. Something about those people make you think that you could be better though, and that they could make you better. Anyway, I remember crying myself into a pint glass for a few weeks after he left and it was all very dramatic because I do like a good bit of drama sometimes to heat up the room. I played 'Don't Go to Strangers' and The Carpenters over and over again until my neighbours in the flat below me moved out. Karen Carpenter knew my pain. He left me his record collection, so that's where I got my truly appalling taste in music that you're so fond of. I wanted to like what he liked, and if I didn't like it then I'd convince myself that I did. After he left, I went on some glorious self-destruct course and did a lot of terrible and entertaining things, including one of my lecturers, as it happens. Funny how things repeat themselves. Then it was all career; chasing things that didn't matter, people who didn't matter, and I wouldn't let them matter. And I was like that for a long time. I'd probably still be like that."

I yawn away from him and smile at how stupid he is. He takes on other people's meaningless tastes for sentimental reasons, formed by nurture rather than nature. I wonder if any of us are ever truly original if even L can't make his mind up for himself.

"Who's Karen Carpenter? I thought you meant that you went in for a lot of woodwork and there's a certain type of music for that."

"Shut up, idiot child. You're annoying the grown-up with your wilful ignorance. 'I love you in a place where there's no space or time. I love you, for in my life, you are a friend of mine. And when my life is over, remember when we were together,'" he recites, like it's poetry. I hope that they're just terrible lyrics and not a hungover declaration. Then he sighs wistfully and I feel like someone's shat in the bed.

"God," I breathe out, looking back at the blank ceiling. If you stare at it for too long you could make yourself believe that you're blind. "That's fucking atrocious."

"Cue sax solo. Of course you'd think that it's sentimental."

"It does sound sentimental."

"I'd love to have found you after you'd had your heart broken," he says sadly. "This would be so different then. But that wouldn't happen, you're too clever. I've just found you at the wrong time. You need someone to rip your heart out, and maybe I'll do that so someone else will benefit from it."

"Whatever you say. All I know is that it would take five weightlifters to strap me into a chair before I'd listen to that shit."

"How do you know it's shit? You've never heard it and you have no soul, so be quiet. I also thought that 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road' was written just for me. I was going through a retro phase and was fond of barbiturates at the time, which might explain it. Do you even have a favourite song?"

I think about it for a moment, but nothing springs to mind, so I shrug it off.

"I don't think so," I say, and he's appalled.

"No? What about a favourite film? A book?"

"Not that I can think of. Why?"

"God, you're not human," he sighs.

"I just don't have favourite things. So, David ripped your heart out and gave you his shitty record collection. So much for him being an amazing person."

"You've missed the point; it wasn't necessarily a bad thing and it wasn't his fault. Nobody wants it to happen, but it's... yeah. I was young, so a few months seemed like forever and I felt that I was being abandoned again. It all goes back to your childhood, doesn't it? So predictable. Earlier on, I was thinking how my relationship with David started out similarly to how mine started out with you, like a role reversal, only he had good intentions and I had nothing of the sort. No, I was like you in a lot of ways. I was looking for opportunities and saw him as a bit of a meal ticket, but ended up liking him more than I had expected. When he left, I was sure that my heart was broken and I developed an irrational hatred of fair trade products. Fast forward a good few years and I walked right past dear David. He chased after me and was very upset that I was so inconstant and defending a serial rapist in one of my first high-profile cases."

"What?"

"I won. It wasn't my fault that I convinced the jury of his innocence only for him to go out and reoffend a couple of months later. I was made a partner because of that case."

"I wish that I hadn't asked," I say, my face heavy with a set-in frown. I think of the repercussions and misery L had a hand in. He saved that man unjustly, with no sense of morality or shame. The man reoffended but couldn't be tried again for previous crimes, so he'd serve a lower sentence than he should have. My headache rages and splits above my eyes suddenly, making me feel sick again.

L laughs, not knowing how close I am to heaving since my expresson must just be that of a quiet bitter pill. He arches forwards to kiss me briefly before flopping on his back again like he's attached to a bungee cord.

"You don't like it when I tell you things like that, do you? You always look so disappointed. Not so much with me, but as though you're responsible somehow. It's a bit late for me to find a conscience now. When a court decides that someone is innocent, then they are, even if they're guilty. If I was on the other side, I would have won then too because they were just incompetent with their circumstantial evidence. But I'm telling you about David because... I think I that I'm out of my tree right now. And also because I'm trying to say that things which seem very intense at the time, don't stay that way. Human nature dictates that people like you and I can't stop and smell the roses. There are no fucking roses. Something more interesting will come along as we tire of each other, and I'm expecting it any day now. You don't need me anymore to help you with your career, and I can't compete with a girl in a pair of Louboutin's. David is the reason I changed my mind and didn't fuck off like my instincts told me to, because then I would have told _you_ to fuck off."

"I won't point out that you have told me to fuck off several times, but I'm glad that you didn't fuck off," I tell him, but he just laughs at me. "You don't believe me, do you? You don't believe a single word I say."

"Can you blame me?" he asks, still laughing at me. For some reason it hurts right to my fibres and makes me want to put the TV on while I drown him in the bath, so I rub my forehead instead. There's a pressure cooker inside me and the violence is so close, just chained down. The chains rattle for the strangest reasons. I don't like him preaching to me. I do and don't want to know about David and some pervert who fucked him when he was fifteen. It's annoying that he's telling me all this like he's imparting some great message of enlightenment which will make me wake up tomorrow with a new take on life.

"I thought that you'd know what to believe and what not to believe," I say. The sadness shows through in my voice, I think, but he still sounds like he's dying from humour.

"Why would I know that, Light? You don't have a little LED on your head to let me know when you're lying and when you're not, so I just presume that you're lying all the time. It's easier that way."

"Oh. Well. I can't do anything about that."

"It's ok. When I was your age, I was just like you. I loved my career more than anything because it's one long race to win and prove that you're better than everyone else, right? But, you know, like with David, he wanted me to go with him to some godforsaken place to inoculate children and donkeys or something, and I just didn't want to. I don't give a shit about children or donkeys or anything else, and I wasn't any different then. I wanted to stay in London and carry on the way I was. He was a distraction, and that's what I am to you. I'm asking too much of you at this point in time. Now I want to find out where David is and say: 'Listen, sorry that I was such a twat back then. Some bloke's doing the same thing to me as I did to you, and I'm sorry, because it must have hurt like a bitch. I wasn't worth it. Do you want your record collection back?'"

"Don't find him."

"I'm not going to, don't worry. I just want to go to sleep and wake up in a few years when you're older and you know what I know. Live a bit, Light. Be a fucking idiot and get your heart broken, then come back and wake me up."

"I'd like to know what you know that I haven't worked out after thirty years of life. You're only thirty-seven."

"It's not because I have a few years on you, it's that I've lived and you haven't. Life threw itself at me and I took it home. You told life that you weren't in and gave it directions to someone else's house. I just know that it means nothing, all this. Your apartments and houses and wages and cars and suits; they're just nice things. You think they're important now but they're not."

"I know that."

"Are you just filling your time with it? I know what that's like."

"I know what's important."

"What's important, Light?" he asks. I look at his hand which is sort of curled on the bed, and I want it hold it and the branch of veins that stand out, meeting, running up his arm and disappearing. After waiting for a minute, the hand lifts and I watch it come towards me like it's not attached to anything. The fingertips touch my face gently and I turn to L as he rolls on his side towards me. "If I left, what would you do?"

"Erm... wait until you came back?" I say, and laugh when he does. "Ha! I don't fucking know! What do you mean?"

"I was just thinking that maybe I could wait, but I hate waiting for anything, especially for things I can't rely on. You might be different in a few years. In my head, you'll get this career thing out of your system and then you'll think: 'Shit! I wish L was here,' but I won't be there. And then maybe you'll divorce Kiyomi and resign. Maybe you'll turn up on my doorstep one day."

"I'll always be on your doorstep."

"I'd like that. I really would. But it won't happen," he replies sadly but, in his usual way, he covers it with a smile and blinks slowly as he turns away. "The stars are not aligned," he breathes out.

"We're ok."

"Of course we're not ok, you idiot," he shouts suddenly. "I'm fucking furious with you. Why can't you see that? I can't put the intensity of my hatred for you into words."

"But... Hold on, you said -"

"Light, never forget that if I'm anything, I'm a liar. I lie constantly, and only to amuse or save myself. I've put up with you because I thought that you might get your head together one day, but you're not going to, are you? What hurts me is that it's not because you're being stubborn so much as you're just genuinely confused. You don't know what love is and you wouldn't know it if you felt it. You wouldn't know it if it hit you over the head with a mallet. You'd just twist it into something ugly instead because it'd be easier to deal with."

"For God's sake, will you lay off blahing on about this same old thing over and over again? I don't know what you expect me to do."

"I don't expect to do anything, that's the problem. This is the last time, I promise. If you believe that Kiyomi and your job aren't factors, because, let's face it, they're the same thing, then that's sad. And if you think that I'll believe that Kiyomi and your job aren't factors, then you're an idiot. Either way, I'm fucked. You won't wait for me and I won't wait for you. Never mind though, eh? We'll always have Paris."

"Don't think that I don't see what you're trying to do. Everything sounds like a goodbye from you and I won't have it, so get it out of your head. I'm sorry that your father's dead and that you find it necessary to speak to Lord Shit and get pissed, but don't start this with me again. For your sake, don't. If you run away from me, you'll die of it eventually and you know it."

I'm surprised that he has no words left and just lies there, and that makes me regret saying anything. I'm starting to think that I should just nod my head and agree with everything he says instead, because he'll never be happy otherwise. I hate that he's not saying anything now, so I'll take him somewhere else. I climb on top of him and hold him there. It's like a dream I had once. I lower my head to kiss him until he moans into my mouth in a way that is to be felt more than heard, and open my eyes to see his closed. It makes me think of all the funerals I've ever been to, and every open coffin.

"Don't start, just don't. Don't fight me."

"We'll forget about it," he says. "But you have to make a decision soon, and I'll be the loser, I know. It's the way things are. But until then, yeah, no fighting."

I tell him that he's not a loser, or maybe I don't. Existence crashes headlong into me when his mouth is on mine, and I realise how inappropriate this is. His dead father might as well be in the room with us. We should be drinking endless cups of coffee and sitting in silence until the old man ascends or descends to wherever he's been judged to go. L's hungover, or maybe still a bit drunk, and I fed him poison as well. No, they're tablets, it's ok, I take them all the time. It was an accident. I don't make mistakes. Why do I care anyway? I've been with a palette of men and women in my time, spanning ages as colours do, and I don't know what makes me him so different. I want nothing in my head, so I'm fighting thoughts away, not concentrating on what he's doing until my own unexpected gasp breaks my control of him and he controls me instead. My stomach muscles clench, I feel sweat beginning to push through my pores, my forehead presses against his and I hold the bed frame above his head so I don't collapse from this one disgustingly simple touch of his hand. I hardly hear him. All I can hear is myself.

"Oh. For me," he whispers. "And after all this time."

"After all this time."

* * *

Everything I own has a neon yellow sticker attached with 'keep' or 'sell' written on it.

Not many people are in the place we end up in, and we sit in a dark corner so I can take off my sunglasses and have some hope of remaining unnoticed. L puts his phone on the table next to him, which he never does, and annoyingly keeps pressing it alive every ten minutes or so. We both look like we're close to death. He's wearing a coat and shirt of mine which hang off him in strange places over trousers he's worn for twenty-four hours. He wouldn't take one of my suits so I could dress him entirely in my clothes. His trousers smell of rain, old whiskey and me.

Just as I'm about to place some rice in my mouth, I see something unpleasant across the room.

"Shit."

"What?" L asks, lifting up some rice from his plate and peering as if there might be something better underneath.

"Jeevas and Mikami are over there. Why is Mikami always with him? He hates him."

"I don't know, because they have so many drugs in common? Shouldn't Jeevas be on honeymoon though? We should leave. He'll put me off my coffee," he says grumpily, turning to look. When he turns back he taps his phone and apparently doesn't like the time. "Actually, I better go anyway. Light -"

"No, they've noticed us," I interrupt as I stand up. "I'll have to go over. We've just had a game of tennis, ok?"

"Haven't we always? We really do play a lot of tennis. It's early though, were we playing at dawn? They're going to expect us to go pro at this rate."

"You stay here then."

"And miss this? Never. I'll pay and be over in a minute. Don't say anything insulting to him until I get there."

We leave in different directions at the same time, and I slide past the narrow aisle of empty chairs and tables until I reach Jeevas and Mikami. Naomi's here too, but I didn't notice her at first. All I see is a pair of heavily made-up eyes and all the bones sticking out of her chest. So this is a honeymoon in Jeevas' estimation? I had some part in it because I refused to give him time off, even unpaid. He's had what days he was entitled to already and this is his punishment for being Jeevas.

"Small world. Mikami, Naomi," I mumble. My eyelids are already heavy with lack of sleep and boredom. Jeevas' company is the equivalent of going to a skiffle concert.

"Hi, Light!" Naomi replies cheerfully like I've saved her from a fate worse than death. I suppose that I have.

"I'm surprised to see you up and about so early in the day, Jeevas."

"We went to a concert last night," Naomi tells me. That explains her drawn, gaunt face and her bedraggled, all-nighter clothes.

"Yagami. Speak of the devil," Jeevas says, and sucks something off his thumb. God. "We were just discussing your complete lack of a sex life."

"How nice of you. It's just a shame that you know absolutely nothing about my sex life."

"What with Kiyomi away and all. How _are_ you coping?" he asks, with dramatic and patronising concern. I am waiting for the best he can give me. My slightly injured, nettled mood is perfect for Jeevas right now, and the place is otherwise empty, so I can rip him to shreds without restraint.

"That, Jeevas, is my business, not yours. I'm not interested in you or your sexual conundrums concerning me in the dark recesses of your brain."

"Yagami..." Mikami starts. He looks like he has something important to ask me and I think that I know what it is.

"I haven't forgotten, Mikami. Don't worry," I tell him. It covers all bases anyway. Jeevas jumps in when he sees L.

"Morning, Lawliet. Let me guess, tennis? You both look like shit."

"Light plays a good but tiring game," L replies.

"I'm sure that he's fucking marvellous at all things, it's just expertly disguised with ineptitude and gay supermodel poses."

"Gay supermodel poses?" I repeat. The accusation of ineptitude doesn't bother me because that's obviously baseless, but what the very fuck gay supermodel poses?

"I approve of gay supermodels, obviously. And their poses," L sighs. I'm not sure if it's his way of defending me or he's just stating a fact of life and doesn't see how the comparison might not be a flattering one for me. "Sometimes it's the only way I can get through the day."

"Jeevas was just considering my sex life, L," I explain, deciding to skirt around the whole matter and fixate on the one with the most mileage and opportunity for slaughter. I have to pose, it's part of my job. Knuckle dragging dickhead.

"Oh, really? Well, I'm no one to comment, but I'm sure that it's stunning," L says, looking tiredly amused while putting on the coat I gave him.

"It's not bad. Thanks for your concern, Jeevas, but there's really no need for you to worry."

"I'm not worried about you, Yagami."

"You should be. I feel that I have to remind you of who I am and that it's really not appropriate for you to think about my personal life. I can't stop you, of course, but you really should just mull it over on your own with a box of Kleenex rather than discuss it with people, because, as I say, remember who I am. Have you forgotten that you're supposed to work in Foreign Affairs? I hate to break it to you, but your job entails the promotion of our interests abroad and building relations with other countries. It doesn't mean that you should fuck them in their respective consulates. Yes, I heard about that."

"Hey!" Naomi blurts out, looking very offended for some reason.

"Sorry, Naomi, but you've married a moron. I meant to tell you before you married him." She could do better and I should have told her. She has done better in the past, but he just had to go off and get himself killed, didn't he.

Jeevas starts shouting at me in English. I catch the occasional word, but mostly it's just a glottal stopping mess that a native speaker would have trouble making sense of. I hold up my hand to interrupt him.

"Excuse me, I need a translator. L, would you do the honours? What is he saying to me?"

"It's not very complimentary," he tells me.

"I'll tell you in your own language then," Jeevas says, standing up, hand on hip. "You're a prick."

"Careful, or I'll have to recommend that you be removed from your department. I think that I can do that now. What do you think, L?"

"You're the boss. On a personal note, I think that it would be a wise decision. It's not like he holds a seat and his ability is negligible, even in a barbershop choir pimp sort of way."

"Good point, well made. He scrabbled into politics like a fascist rat down a drainpipe which is lubricated with nepotism. Maybe you should consider a career change, Jeevas? You don't look well. And you're a bastard. I think it's all getting a bit too much for you and I need people who can give their all to my government."

"Light -" Naomi begs, but Jeevas can't stop himself.

"Fine, Yagami. You do that. And I'll tell them that you're a jealous, bitter piece of shit. Let's see who they listen to."

"That's sounds great to me. Good luck with that, and make sure that you're packed up and out of your office first thing on Monday morning."

"Matt, please. Let's just stop, hey? Time fucking out," Naomi demands, taking Jeevas' arm and pulling him away. It seems like it's over, but then he turns around and starts shouting again.

"And you know what? Like anyone believes that you've got a sex life, even when Kiyomi's in town. What sex life? You're probably being banged by old Lawliet here."

"Less of the 'old', please," L says, "The technical term is mature. You know, I'm not sure if you two are aware that all this animosity is coming across as compelling sexual tension. I'm not complaining, I'd just rather that you weren't involved, Jeevas."

"Piss off. You're just the same as him. Wanker," Jeevas hisses. I look at Naomi, whose eyes are impossibly large and frightened as if she knows what I'm going to say.

"Naomi, would you mind telling your orchestra of lazy sperm about the four times that we -"

"SHUTHEFUCKUPLIGHT!" she screams back.

"Don't bring my wife into your delusions," Jeevas says, pointing a bony finger in my face to emphasise every point. "You. Wish. That's your problem, Yagami. You're just some boring bastard and a closet fag. Yeah, Misa told me about you." He smiles smugly and turns around like he's been waiting his whole life to say that to me. This is his idea of a coup d'état in a Sergio Leone film. The credits roll as he walks into the sunset. Like fuck they will.

"Hey, Jeevas?" I call after him, and he faces me again.

"What?"

"Fuck off, you depraved village idiot without a village, and in that direction. When you reach the sea, keep fucking off until you hit land. And if you don't drown, please come and find me so I can tell you to fuck off all over again."

"It _was_ you who sent me that memo with a link to that 'How to Fuck Off' wiki page!" he shouts. I have no idea what he's talking about. I do remember a general email sent to all departments which had 'FAO Jeevas' as the subject heading, and for that reason, I didn't read it. I wish that I had now.

"No, that was me," L admits. "I saw it and thought of you."

"Ok. Hold my coat, Naomi, love. I have some shit to kick," Jeevas laughs. I'm not sure if he means me or L, but I'm more than willing to step forward.

"If I wasn't sure that I'd catch a venereal disease if I touched you, I'd cut your cock off and use it to stir my espresso and pick my teeth with it afterwards."

"You're going to need a bigger cup."

"An egg cup might be a better fit. Maybe I could borrow one from your mother after she's finished fucking you and all the other interbred, loose-toothed, pink pony fucking, grandmother mugging, vagina-faced, vomit guzzling, baby killing, rectal smears within driving distance. Every single cell of you is ugly."

"Oh, Jesus. You know World War Two? That was funnier than you are, Yagami."

"You're the scientific proof that there is no God and you're solely responsible for the suicide rate in this country. Every time I breathe the same air as you I want to press a big red button on some nuclear warheads."

"Suck my balls until they grind your teeth down, fuckface."

"Fuck yourself running with a sandpaper condom in a shit burning incinerator."

"You wank off over babies' coffins."

"You can only get an erection if Ronald McDonald sticks a red-hot tuba up your arse and calls you Susan."

"Your hair is stupid," he says. His face is red and it's getting redder. After the initial tumbleweed passes by, there's a vowel laden sound of disappointment and shame from the onlookers, and I start to laugh, almost hysterically.

"What?! My hair is stupid? That's the best you have? You're funny in a way that would be funny if it wasn't so unintentional. In the past, people like you were dragged through the streets by a horse and cart while everyone threw vegetables at them on public holidays. It's something that I should consider reinstating."

"Punch a Jeevas Day," L nods approvingly.

Jeevas can only breathe while I feel a burning sense of victory which is wasted on him. Naomi drags him towards the bar and Mikami smiles at me before he follows them. I am full of energy and it just pools inside of me. I'm so glad that I came here, but now I have to go, it's too much to be contained in this building. I have that meeting with an interior designer who's going to fit the new kitchen for when Kiyomi comes back, and I've just decided that I want black to be the main colour scheme. Kiyomi won't like it, but she will just have to live with it. I walk towards the exit because I am fucking done here. Mikami, Jeevas and Naomi are long gone, and L races to catch up with me as I walk down the stairs.

"Well! That was more entertaining than I expected," he says casually. "I thought that you were just going to say hello. I am very impressed."

"I hate him," I tell him. And I do. All the hatred I feel for him shudders through me, making my voice jittery and breathy like dubstep. He's nothing. He's not even a toe bone of the man Penber was, and what _is_ Naomi doing in using him as a replacement? "I'm only waiting for him to die, then I'll piss on the flowers on his grave. God, I hate him. No, not hate. I _despise_ him."

"Yes, I gathered. You're not alone there," L assures me. "You're strangely charming when you're insulting people too. Quite special really."

"Do you mean special in inverted commas?"

"No, just your regular shop brand special."

"Is my hair stupid?" I ask.

"Of course not! Maybe you could cut down on the hair products, but I'm very fond of your hair. You're not actually taking any notice of what he says, are you?"

"Yeah, right. But, y'know, it's my hair. I mean, that's fucking low."

"Terrible insult, yes. Oh shit, look at the time. Wait a second," he says, grabbing my arm to stop me. I push past him and keep walking. I don't have time for this and I need to get outside. "Light, I have to tell you something."

"I'm running late, L. Can it wait until later?"

"Not really, I'm late too. I'm, um, I'm going abroad for a while," he mumbles. It takes a second for the word 'abroad' to sink in, and when it does, I stop dead.

"Whoa, what? What and where and why and no fucking way."

"I have to go to London to sort some things out."

"Why do you have to... Oh! For the funeral! Ok, I understand. Sorry, I should have thought of that. I'll clear it with HR. You should have told me earlier though."

"I rarely do what I should," he says. "I don't know, I just didn't feel like it. It wouldn't have changed anything. I wanted to spend this time without thinking about it and what I'm doing. I like to deal with these things on my own. Anyway, I've made some arrangements and have someone to cover for me so -"

"You think that I'm pissed off because you haven't given me any notice for work? You have to go, of course you do. Take as much time as you need but not too much and..._fuck! _Just give me a second to get my head around this. Right. When are going?"

"Now, actually."

"Today?"

"I'm sorry. I'll send your shirt and coat back. I'll wash them, don't worry."

"But. When will you be back? A week will be enough, right? This is utter shit. You can't wash that coat; it's a hundred percent wool and it's dryclean only. No, this _is_ utter shit. Kiyomi comes back in a week and you'll be in London. Your father had the worst timing, L."

"Yes, but I can't really complain to him about it now, can I?"

"I suppose not. Right, ok. How long will you be gone?"

"Well, that's a bit of a sore point. I'll probably be a few months."

"L!" I shout.

"Shhh... remember where you are," he tells me quietly. He grasps my elbow tightly and starts walking both of us towards the door as he talks quickly and unemotionally at first, looking straight ahead like he's been preparing for this and brought an autocue just in case he forgets his lines. "Cut that shit out right now. I'm going and I don't want any scenes. You have no control over this and you need to get used to that. Surrender to the feeling. It's nice, isn't it? Just don't make this more difficult for me, ok? I have to sort out my father's estate and our firm in London. You'd think that as an ex-judge he would have made out a will that wouldn't leave room for vultures, wouldn't you? Noooo, way too much to hope for. My complete _shit_ of a brother, Deneuve and some of our partners have contested, and my other shit of a brother smells money and looks like he's taking Deneuve's side. The poor bastard's only been dead twenty-four hours, for fuck's sake," he exhales.

"You don't have to be there the whole time. Can't you work on it from here?" I ask before realising that I'm not being very sympathetic when I should be. I'm trying to remember how long probate takes in this country but my head is so full of noise that my thoughts don't run in a straight line from question to answer like they normally do. "I'm sorry. Can I do anything?"

"Kill my brothers? No, no, I'll do that, figuratively speaking. But, yes, explanation. It looks like they want to split up the firm or sell it off entirely and buy me out. Nothing like a global financial crisis to bring out the mercenary in everyone. This would have an effect, not only the London branch, but all of them, and that's my livelihood so, y'know, I have to bring all the fury and win, don't I? I also want my father's house because he promised it to me. The thought of Deneuve getting it and moving his hat trick of mutants in there makes me want to set fire to the place instead. His bat-faced wife is probably rooting through the silver as we speak. She's such a patronising shit, sending me yellow skinny jeans for Christmas. Bitch."

"Your family is horrible."

"Yes. I slept with her darling 'Timmy's not gay, he's just sensitive!' brother five years ago though, and believe me, it was not a pleasant experience. _And_ he gave me the clap. I've been waiting for the opportunity to tell her face to face if she ever crossed me again. Now I can paint her a picture, so there's one silver lining to this whole thing. I don't know, Light. I probably have several court cases to deal with as well as arrange a funeral, because no one seems to have thought of that. God, why did we have to walk? There's one of those elevators over there, you know? So, yes, there you go, you're up to speed. I'm not having the best day. On top of that, the only seat I could get on the plane is in economy. In short, I'm pretty fucked off."

"How long exactly will this take?"

"A while."

"You said that. I want a timeframe."

"I can't give you one. Probate, business ownership and contesting of wills just crossover into a massive clusterfuck. I really don't know how long it'll take right now and I don't want to think about it because it's all up in the air, isn't it? But what I was thinking last night is that it's a good thing. It's a good thing. It's a full stop, isn't it? Full stop, new paragraph," he says, convincing himself because I'm not offering any reassurance. I don't know what he means and I refuse to walk like this anymore; this sort of half-hearted race outside with his tangling words which I can't take in. I feel like I've splintered into insects and they're crawling the walls inside my head because I don't like how anxious he is. It can't be that bad.

"L, just slow down," I tell him, pulling him to one side to stand still for a minute. "I can't understand you. You're talking too fast and you don't make any sense."

"Sorry," he breathes, and forces himself to calm down a little by tapping his bottom lip obsessively as he speaks. "I mean that if I leave now, then it's a good thing. It's better this way because I have a genuine reason to go and it's nothing to do with you -"

"You're coming back."

"I can, but it might be best if I don't."

"Shut up. You have a job here and you're coming back. So shut up."

"Work. Ok," he says, and swallows. "Light, can't you ever say anything that isn't so fucking beige?"

"What do you want? Stop being so dramatic. Al Pacino called, L. He wants his Oscar and overacting skills back. We have a contract and I'm not letting you break it. That's all there is to it."

"Contracts?! Great. That's great. You've shut down on me again just when it matters. I need you to give me a reason or tell me if I'm wasting my time. I'm going, Light. This is me going and I might not see you again unless you give me a real reason. It's a long flight to sit through when you're miserable. Say the right thing."

His voice is breaking up like he's on the phone in an area of bad reception, or maybe it's my hearing. I grip his arms so I can tell him what he's going to do.

"You're going and it doesn't matter how long for because you're coming back."

"For work," he says blankly.

"Yes."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"Yes you can and you will. You will fucking well come back or I'll go over there and I'll find you. Look, let's just go somewhere and plan this out. I need to plan this out."

"And I need to get a taxi," he says, and he's like a drone suddenly, walking outside. I follow him and just stand there looking at him while he watches the cars going past. He could work on the legal bollocks and arrange the funeral from here. I'll help him. I can do things like that. I'm very good at things like that. I have a degree. He doesn't need to stay there, he could just fly out for a week or so at a time. He could go while I'm away; it wouldn't matter then. I'm sorting this out already with no time to think about it and it's not as bad as he thinks.

"What's with the taxis and the rushing around?" I ask, standing in front of him. "I mean, yeah, if you want, we'll get a taxi back to my apartment. Do you need to go back to yours? I'll drive you."

"I have to get to the airport. I have a flight booked. Will you make sure that Mihael finds my car?"

"What, you're going now? You can't. Hold on, put off the flight. I'll sort something out."

"What are you planning to sort out? I have to go and bury my father, Light."

"He'll still be dead if you get a flight tomorrow," I say without thinking, and his initial shock is broken by a sudden burst of laughter. I drag my hand through my hair, exasperated by us both. "Sorry. This is just... some warning would have been nice, L. Is there no way that you can deal with it from here?"

"I'm afraid not," he tells me with a cheerful calm that worries me. I preferred it when he was frantic and couldn't breathe because he was throwing words at me like bullets. "Now, about the office. This is my notice of the anticipatory breach of my contract, I'm sorry. Feel free to sue me for damages, I'll just add it to the pile. Until you've made a decision, I've asked someone to stand in for me from the firm. I picked her myself and her name is Halle. She starts on Monday and don't piss her off because you'll have trouble finding anyone who's as capable. Mihael's drawing up a list of contacts for you - press and things like that - and they should be on your desk by tomorrow morning. If they're not, feel free to beat his head in with a photocopier. And -"

"Just shut the fuck up, will you?" I shout, losing conviction towards the end when an old woman stares at me as she walks past to make sure that it is actually me. I have to close my eyes for a second while L continues.

"This is all important, Light. Just so you know that I'm not leaving you completely high and dry and that I don't expect you to keep my job open for me. I'd think that there was something wrong with you if you did, actually. Sympathetic leave only extends so far. Personally, I have as much time for giving employees sympathetic leave as I do for parental leave. How is it my fault as an employer that they've decided to do something stupid?"

"Please don't."

"Don't what? Are you telling me that you're sorry to see me go or that you support parental leave and find me offensive?"

"You're not going," I say. "Not like this. You don't even have a suitcase. What will you wear? _That_? For months? You haven't thought this through at all. You don't even have a full suit. You have one pair of trousers and, to be honest, they stink of whiskey and soon they'll just stink. You'll wash that coat in a washing machine, won't you? It'll shrink, and then you won't even have a coat."

"This is grim. Look at me breaking all the rules and stinking the place out. I'll be lucky if I'm not completely naked by Thursday. I have my passport and my wallet and I have me. I'll be fine."

"L, I'm just pointing out that you should put this off until tomorrow and pack like a normal person."

"I'll buy new clothes when I get there."

"You'll buy awful clothes. You'll wear tweed three-piece suits and mustard coloured ties with pink shirts, I know it. Everyone there wears fucking tweed!"

"Oh, Light," he laughs.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just love you, that's all."

He walks away and it takes him some time to notice that I'm not with him now that he's a few feet away and he's hailed a taxi and he's opened the door and he's talking to the driver and I'm still standing here and I need to stop this from happening. Or, maybe I should just let it happen. A shadow is telling me that I should let it happen. The thought washes over me like a calming, icy wind I used to feel all the time. L's right - it is better this way. He won't come back and I won't find him.

All I can think of for a minute then is how annoyed I am that it's so bright out here. I'm in the shade, but where he is it's blinding white. I know why he told me; it's because he's selfish and he thinks that it'll shock some knee-jerk response out of me. There'll be more people around soon and I have to get out of here. I look left and right to find a way out.

"Have I actually left you speechless?" he calls over to me, grinning, and with his hand on the taxi door. "That's quite something. If I'd known that it would have that effect then I might have done it earlier. You better get going. You have that meeting soon, remember? Your kitchen. You're running late and my plane leaves in half an hour so that doesn't leave me much time."

My voice doesn't sound like my own. There's so much blood pounding through my ears that everything sounds far away from me.

"But I don't understand why."

"Oh. Well, I'll explain," he says, and walks back to me through the line between darkness and sunlight so I can see him properly again in his colours. He stands close enough for me to hear him speak softly. "I'm not sure why either. Clearly you can't imagine why anyone would think anything of you, and I'm inclined to share your consternation. But here's the thing, and there's no logic behind it. I never thought that it was possible to love someone so completely, or that one person could be everything that I've ever wanted, but never knew that I did. And I _found_ you."

"L -"

"No, listen. I'm going to tell you something now that you're not going to like but you need to hear it. I hope that it helps you, because I want you to be ok and I don't see that happening the way you are now. You can't stay this way. I almost wish that I hadn't met you, because you're a mess, Light, and it hurts me to see what you're doing to yourself. You have everything but won't allow yourself the one thing that could make you happy, and I don't mean me, though I might have been a part of it. You're not a bad person, but you're hiding, and you'll lose yourself completely if you don't stop. It's too painful for you to be anything else than this thing you've created, I know. I understand, I do. For a long time I thought that you were only broken, but it's not that; you're just cold right through and you've made yourself that way. You've invented something that's not you, and one day you'll wake up and you'll wish that you were dead. It'll ruin you. You'll take everything with you before you burn up, and I don't want to see that happen. You're better than this. Don't fuck it up. Anyway, take it. That's for you."

He walks away from me with a smile on his face again. I don't understand how he can do that. "You can't go," I say, following him.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I can and I am. Email me if there are any problems with work, just don't call me, because I won't answer the phone to you, ok? I will not."

"What? Wait! I just... You would say something like that now, wouldn't you?"

"I don't think anyone overheard, don't worry."

"I don't give a shit about that! You tell me that and I have no time. You're giving me no time because you're leaving."

"Yeah. I am. Take care of yourself, Light."

He gets in the car. It pulls out into the stream of traffic and all the cars which look just like it.

I miss my meeting.


	11. You Try Working Out Chaotic Things

**Chapter Eleven**

**You Try At Working Out Chaotic Things**

* * *

"He has a sore throat so no questions today, gentlemen. Play nice."

I don't have a sore throat, that's just Kiyomi's excuse of the day for why I won't answer questions shouted at me by freelancers in the street. She pushes past a few cameras with the fearlessness of a woman who finds strength in being alone in gender among a hoard of elbowing men, and makes up for the discrepancy in height by wearing knife-like heels. We wade through these people daily. Even though bodyguards keep most of them at a distance, there's always the odd one who slips through to flash a camera right in our faces until we get into the car. They press their lenses against the darkened windows, knowing that they'll never get a shot from it, and that is the reality of celebrity and fame. It annoyed me at first, but I've accepted it as you would accept the relatively minor annoyance of a few mosquitos when you've fallen into a zoo enclosure and find yourself surrounded by crocodiles.

"You'll be telling them that I only speak French soon," I say to the window, not expecting a reply. She's far too busy looking for her compact mirror and I've been busy with having an opinion on everything, because apparently Prime Ministers are supposed to have a favourite contestant in TV talent shows. It's very important to have a wide knowledge of the frivolous while remaining solid, level-headed and serious about things that officially matter. Before that, there were weddings and honeymoons and Kiyomi moving into the Kantei. I sold my apartment, and since a lot of my things were unsuitable for who I am now, they had to be put into storage or sold. As it turns out, I made some wise investments and that money will now sit in my private account. I am a strong believer in private accounts. Sharing things complicates life unnecessarily.

"We're late," Kiyomi tells me after a few minutes. She repeats it, leaning forward towards the driver, who's in a better position to do something about the problem than I am. The car speeds up, she falls back into her seat and huffs out another "we're late" like she's suffering from a punctual form of Tourette's.

"What a tragedy," I sigh. We're driving past Tom Ford's now and I can think of better ways to spend this afternoon. My private account wants me to have a new suit and a couple of shirts. Maybe a tie.

I twist the gold band on my ring finger to cover up the tan line underneath, which acts as a fading memory of summer, my honeymoon and ruins my hand. Kiyomi doesn't wear her ring often; her excuse being some mangled feminist statement of independence. The real reason is that she feels that it 'clutters' her finger and distracts attention from her engagement ring, which she still loves as some people love their children. Her feminism didn't stop her from taking my name. We're happy in some ways, since she never pesters me for attention and we require nothing from each other apart from what is expected and unspoken. We share a calm house. Disagreements are rare since any potential argument is either ignored or some speedy truce is made. Ultimately, neither of us can be bothered. We like each other in the way I imagine incestuous twins do. I'm under no illusion that she's in love with me in the way that Misa was, thank God, since she is primarily concerned with herself and her own wellbeing. She probably thinks that she's in love with me as much as she thinks that I'm in love with her, but if I died tomorrow then she would make the very best of the situation and find comfort in the arms of the press. I prefer her like this. She's supportive and appreciative in a distant way, like I'm as much of a prize as her engagement ring.

* * *

It's Prime Minister's Questions time. I'm waiting to be questioned and I'm waiting by the stairs. I like to make an impression and make my entrance when everyone else is seated. Sometimes my party (and, recently, a few unhappy and revolutionary members of the opposition) stand when I come in. Which is nice. There's also some morbid fascination which I find in watching them file into the chamber beforehand. I make myself look occupied by my phone so no one talks to me.

The fairly new addition to the higher ranks of the opposition - some kid - is standing alone by a pillar in the lobby while his fellow MPs walk past him like he's not really there. He talks on his phone with his face pointing downwards towards the ground. He's interesting because he's recently been promoted to Shadow Head of Justice, and I have no idea how or why. He's younger than I was when I was promoted to Transport, so I can only think that they're desperate and that this is their way of undermining my professional accomplishments. What's strange about him, and it's probably the reason why no one in his own party speaks to him, is because he's weird-looking. He's small and has white hair, dark eyes and he wears white suits to make himself look even worse. He's from Hokkaido. I wonder if he bleaches his hair that colour or whether he was violently scared on a ghost train once. Holding his stupid, toy-like phone to his ear, he locks eyes with me for longer than is polite. He doesn't nod his head, or smile or look away like other people do, he just stares. My lips curve at the sheer nerve of him, and then he does the same thing.

"Why do you look so happy?" a voice says behind me. My lungs empty, but apart from that I'm amazed by how little I feel. The only change is that the taste of old coins fills my mouth, and I realise that I've bitten the inside of my lip accidentally as the voice continues to speak in my ear. "Oh. You smell blood from the red camp. I know what you're thinking: How dare he stand within these sacred walls. Unusual suiting choice he's made there. He definitely stands out."

It's not that I didn't expect this at some point, but I was waiting for the right moment to do what he's just done to me; creep up from behind and shock him into an emotional malaise so he'd be at a disadvantage. He came back to work a few months ago, I know, but he stayed away from me and I stayed away from him, which was no small effort since his office is now in the Kantei. The moving of his office was an unwise move on my part, but I arranged it in the immediate aftermath of his leaving as some statement to myself that he'd come back, even though I wasn't assured of it at the time. In the end, it served as another reminder that I shouldn't make hasty decisions in life or allow the heart to get the better of the head, because that's when you make mistakes.

I turn to my left and see his amused face barely hold itself together as he reviews the childish man ahead of me. There's a difference between seeing someone from a distance and having them right next to you. Sometimes, if I happened to be free and by my office window at the same time, I'd see him walk from the car park to the Kantei in the morning, and sometimes I'd watch him leave in the afternoon. Having glass separating us gave a sense of watching something on TV. I haven't really have time for it lately. Once, Kiyomi brought me a coffee while I watched him arrive at the building. She snaked her arms around my waist, sighed when she saw him and the others arrive and said: "Another day."

"You do remember me, don't you?" he asks me.

"Of course I do."

"Good, because that _would_ be embarrassing."

"You're back."

"Seems that way. I got a note from your secretary saying that my contract was being left open," he tells me, his eyes squinting with suspicion. "Did I misunderstand it?"

"I thought that you might stay in London."

"Did you want me to?"

"No! No, I meant that I didn't know what you were doing. It's good to have you back. At work. I just didn't expect to see you in the House."

"Watari wanted to speak to me about his son's fraud case. I'm so lucky. Look at all the bedtime reading he gave me. I'm like the citizens advice bureau giving out free advice."

He looks bored as he lifts up the two binders full of paper he's holding like I should break down in tears at the sight of them. He might have taken them, but he won't read them. He's done this before. I'm more interested in why it's taken him so long to acknowledge that I'm alive.

"So, when –"

"Fraud isn't my area - you know how I love homicides - but I can tell that he's going to lose just from reading the charge and his statement to the police," he says quickly, interrupting me with his story like we saw each other yesterday and not seven months ago. "I wouldn't have my firm go near it with a ten foot pole, so it'll be fun thinking of an excuse. I was thinking of the trusty: 'I'm a barrister, not a solicitor. Please don't talk to me!' or 'I'd love to help you but my dog ate my registration to practice.' Maybe I could give it to one of my apprentices for experience. What do you think?"

"Right yeah that sounds like a really good idea but when did you get back?"

"A few weeks ago, as you well know."

And he's still a fucking liar. He's been back for well over two months, but I can't let on that I know that. I kept his job open and gave him a new office. I even had a wall knocked through and had it completely redecorated with him in mind so he'd have absolutely nothing to moan about, and not so much as a thank you. Ungrateful bastard.

"I –"

"You practically ran into an elevator to dodge me, and you _always_ take the stairs," he says, smiling at me as he leans back on the bannister. "It's ok, the embarrassment is all mine. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I was caught up in the moment, and it's your fault because you were really very forgiving and patient and kind to me. The kindest. And you know that I like it when you're horrible to Jeevas. The list goes on. Or maybe I was still drunk, I don't know, but it wasn't fair of me to make you feel uncomfortable anyway. Take it as the ravings of one of your greatest fans from way back. I just wanted to sack all this avoidance. Well, I was quite happy to avoid you, but then I realised that I'm not sixteen and that I work for you, and sometimes we used to have meetings and sometimes it would be about work. Sometimes. And it was for me to try to sort it out, not you. Running memos through Mihael is stupid, especially because he's not talking to me at the moment."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter. It'll blow over."

"I kept meaning to call by your office," I admit. "I was going to go for the aloof twat approach."

"Well, it is a classic but I'm glad that you didn't. Are you going for the shocked twat approach now instead?"

"I am certainly shocked."

"But not a twat," he says fondly. "Anyway, I'm sorry. I made it very difficult for you and I apologise. I hope that you can forget it and feel that you can talk to me without feeling awkward. I'd hate that. I was worried about it."

"I don't feel awkward and neither should you. There's nothing to worry about."

"Light, you should see your face. How was the wedding? Have you cut your hair?"

"No. Why?"

"You just look different. In a good way, I mean. Not that you ever looked bad. I guess that sometimes you expect people to look exactly the same as when you left them, y'know?"

"Yeah. How did it go with the firm? And... I told you that I was sorry about your father, didn't I?"

"You did. Everything's good, thanks."

"How was the funeral?

"Well, he was buried. It wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs but the pallbearers didn't drop him, so I suppose that it went as well as could be expected." His eyes drop and he points at my hand after seeing the wedding ring on it. "Oh look, you're shackled and everything. Is Kiyomi ok?"

"Fine. You?" I don't know why I'm bothering to ask because, now that the initial shock has worn off, I can see that he looks fucking amazing. How can anyone come back from funerals and litigation looking better than before they left? Maybe he's given up sugar and whiskey for vitamin supplements and gyms? Or maybe I just forgot.

"Great. So, no awkwardness now? Clean slate?"

"I'm glad you're back, L."

"It's good to see you, not just your heels as you run away from me."

"I didn't run."

"Ok, you walked very quickly. I really appreciate that you're being so understanding about my temporary and unusually fragile emotional state back then," he says, looking behind me and smiling at something or other. When he looks back at me he pats me on the shoulder and starts to walk away. "I'll let you murder the opposition. Do your best."

"Do you want to go for a drink later?" I ask to make him stop.

"Will you put it on your tab?" he laughs, and I laugh to be reminded of what seemed like my catchphrase before I was Prime Minister. Now people put my drinks on their tabs. It's how the world works. "Thanks, but I have something planned. Maybe another time."

"Sure. Call my office," I say. "Actually, there's a thing tomorrow."

"A thing? How exciting."

"Sycophants anonymous social evening. You didn't get the memo? The opposition whip has organised it to encourage 'good feeling between the parties'," I tell him. He looks as cynical about it as I feel.

"Like that's going to happen. I smell a _massive_ rat, do you?"

"PR should be there."

"Oh. I should be there then."

"If you can make it. He's hired a floating bar boat restaurant, fuck knows. I'm hoping that he tries to put it on his expenses because that'll be another one gone."

"God, he's such a show off," he sighs. "'One of the people', my arse. He's very retro, isn't he? Isn't he the one with the big lapels? It's not a disco is it?"

"Would I be going if it was? It's just an informal thing."

"On a boat."

"On a boat, yeah. It leaves Hinode docks at half eight."

"I'd hate to miss the boat. Great. Informal. So we can bring... what do you call them, civilians?"

"He didn't say that you couldn't. I suppose so, if they have ID," I shrug. My definition of the term is an unstructured suit and no tie if you really want to hammer in the informality.

"Right. Well, I have to go. See you on the rocking boat maybe."

"L?"

"Hmmm?"

"Don't be embarrassed."

"I'm not. It's impossible for me to feel shame."

"Good. Because. You shouldn't."

"Light, I have to tell you something," he says, serious for once. He looks behind himself towards the doors again, and when he turns back to me he looks happy again. It doesn't stop him taking a few steps back as he talks to me though. "But it can wait until tomorrow. You know that they can't start without you, don't you? It must be nearly time now. Good luck, Prime Minister."

* * *

We pull up at the dock. The lights from the cartoonishly futuristic floating glass cage of a boat makes everything look blue in the darkness. My bodyguard hops out while the car is still moving so he can inspect the fraught with danger environment before we get out. Everything runs like clockwork: I step out, my bodyguard tails me, the driver opens the door for Kiyomi and she's waiting for me by the time I walk around the car and reach her. The sky and our way to the pier is scattered with stars and people respectively. It's bitterly cold but I'm wearing the correct clothing for the weather. We decided to ignore the informal dress code and it looks like everyone else did too. There's no weather or occasion I have experienced which necessitates lazy dressing and padded layers for adults. My guard skirts around us like a sheepdog, herding us towards the boat while we ignore him.

Once we get inside, it _is_ essentially a bar on water and it's already crowded. I'm pounced upon immediately by members of my own party. There are clean circles on the boat as the parties have split themselves into groups. No, this was never going to be a communal thing unless we all get so wasted that we forget who everyone is. I see the leader of the opposition - some perpetually greasy, argumentative and envious idiot called Tsukino. He and his wife bow, Kiyomi and I do the same and the hatred burns a path between us. He's having a difficult time fighting a mutiny in the ranks since his MPs have only just realised how boring and useless he is compared to me, which is part of the reason that his whip has organised this farce. Bearing that in mind, I'm not sure why I've been invited, because it only highlights the problem. I've noticed that he's been trying to imitate me during speeches lately, has employed a stylist to dress him like me, his wife looks like she's trying to dress like Kiyomi and now has a similar haircut. What they don't realise is that they can only emulate a winning formula; they cannot better it. Those in opposition must be opposites in every way to distinguish themselves totally. He doesn't seem to understand this, and his policies are non-existent apart from opposing all of mine, so I have nothing to worry about.

Someone has unwisely invited Jeevas, and he's brought Naomi. Who invited Mikami will remain a mystery, but it could have been me. When everyone is here, I will make a point of shaking his hand and that will give them all something to talk about. While I'm the centre of gravity, buffered by my planetary system of MPs, I notice Mihael and his hair, which has been made platinum by the blue lights. He must be the civilian, so I scan the room for L and find him by the bar taking to the Shadow Treasury. L has always been admired by the opposition and I'm fairly sure that they've been trying to buy their way into making him defect, something which their Head of PR kiboshed so I didn't have to. I must make him feel secure and valued as a member of my staff, so I break away from my little group of thugs to do just that. My bodyguard follows me as I enter the no man's land of a bar area, and lurks at a discreet distance. The Shadow Treasury notices my approach, makes his excuses to L and fucks off with his cosmopolitan.

"Nice suit," I say to L's back and I'm horrified when he turns around. "Is that a red tie?"

"It's a present from someone who didn't know that this colour is banned," he explains, rolling his eyes at me, or with me, I'm not sure. "I didn't want to upset them."

"Oh, yeah, your birthday! I'm sorry I didn't get you a present but I didn't know exactly where to send it."

"Why should you buy me a present? But yes, it was my birthday and I am another year closer to death. Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Not much. I have lived through three of your birthdays, and each of them were memorable in their own way," I tell him, and then frown when I realise that it's not an open bar and the waiter doesn't seem to recognise me. L pours some radioactive green liquid with a sugar cube lurking in the bottom of a martini glass down his throat and coughs once.

"But this birthday was extra memorable," he struggles through a splutter since his voice has been eroded by whatever he's drinking. I smile into my vodka as we walk towards a quiet open window so the sound of the water partially drowns out the noise of a boatful of people talking at the same time. I'm amazed by how pleasant we're being. I want to thank him for setting such a tone of friendliness because, if left to me, I would have milked this for all it was worth and driven him absolutely insane. Because no one takes the reins and leaves me; I leave them, and that has been a thorn in my side for seven months. He's the most infuriating bastard I've ever met, and I lot of times when I had him in my office or in my bed or who gives a shit where, I'd think about killing him. Now I'm half-stupified just because we're talking. I hope that I'm well-lit. The Tokyo skyline at night has always flattered me with a soft glow.

"And why was that?" I ask.

"B came to town like the Santa of Halloween. Do you remember that I told you about B?"

"You've been gone for months, L, not decades. He's your friend who thinks that I'm a psychopath, isn't he?"

"He's reassessed you since then."

"Great. What's the diagnosis now?"

"You'll be pleased to know that now you're a narcissist and a psychopath - the favourite mental cocktail of serial killers the world over - but he's not sure which subtype you are."

"I'm a subtype too? Well, that's nice. Let me get you a proper drink."

"I've got one, thanks."

"That hardly counts as a drink. It's green."

"It really is. I feel the burn so it must be doing me good."

"Or it's bleaching out your digestive system and slowly rotting through like a high strength acid. So, what else did B say about me?" I say while both of us lean on the window frame like pensive poets watching the skyscrapers drift slowly by.

"You don't want to know," he laughs.

"I do."

"I better get this right then. He said that you've created a grandiose persona and alternative reality to cover your weakness and shame, which you suppress or project onto others instead. This would all be regular madhouse, but you're overly sensitive too, just to make it worse, so you can't accept the concept of failure and insults. You want everyone around you to admire you and see how omnipotent you are, and you feel that you're entitled to it. You're arrogant, possessive, envious; you're a unique and special snowflake and other people exist only as an extension of yourself. Basically, you think you're fucking fantastic, and so did I. But, silly me, I also pointed out that you're not fucking fantastic in many, many ways, both supporting and annihilating you, and you couldn't reconcile your feelings for me. You saw me as a threat to your balance of mind. It's very common for politicians, apparently, because what is the government but a collective and internalised narcissism factory? I suppose that it is like a ready-made cult for you. Anyway, that's what he thinks," he finishes with a dismissive snort. I can't speak. I can't even feel anything. From the corner of my eye I see him look at me, but he's just in the periphery. Mostly all I can see are the flashes of light rolling in the water. "Are you ok?" he asks after a while.

"Do you believe that?"

"No! It's just B, and he's got issues they haven't got names for yet. When we were seventeen he told me that I was a sadistic nymphomaniac with insomnia, unresolved parental anger and a lack of empathy, and he was surprised that I hadn't killed anyone. On balance, I think I'm marginally more messed up than you are. At least you're empathetic, eh? Think of that."

"How can you say that you're worse than me? His description of you just sounds like a typical human being. You let him say that about me?"

"I couldn't stop him, he was on the phone. A few years ago he reassessed me and, in addition to my seventeen-year-old self's psychosis, now I'm an egomaniac, fixated on my own morality and justice, or lack thereof, and I only take cases on for money or because I find them interesting. The last part's true and I don't see any problem with it. I have an unconscious desire for death too. That's the latest. He's working on that one. But I don't think he likes the sound of you, no."

"I don't like him either and you can tell him that. Tell him that my diagnosis of him is that he's a dickhead and that he needs to stop evaluating people based on your shit conversations. None of it's true."

"Of course it isn't. He's never even met you. You know, if he saw you, I guarantee that his diagnosis would change immediately. He'd be after you like... I don't want to think about it, it's a horrible thought. But I didn't take any notice of him and you shouldn't either. I'm sorry I told you, I just thought that you'd find it funny. Listen, I'd leave, but the boat's moving and I think I'd drown because you know that I can't swim," he says sadly, like he's considering doing it or would do it if I asked him to.

"No, don't drown. It is funny. Just don't talk to him about me again."

"I can't promise that. He's my confidant. My rock of ages."

"There was me thinking that I was. I am fucking fantastic after all."

"And fantastic at fucking. When you were there anyway. See, it's not so bad. Every cloud."

"What do you mean, when I'm 'there'? Surely by definition it means that I would have to be 'there', wherever 'there' is. Where's 'there'?"

"'There' is awkward territory again and we're leaving that behind us now. You mean too much to me to risk that."

"You confuse me," I tell him quietly and I'm surprised by how heartfelt I sound. I try to read him through his eyes, but there's nothing to see.

"Don't look so sad," he says. "It's a mutual confusion society. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, I'm used to it. I just wish... Oh! Didn't you want to talk to me about something?"

"Did I?"

"You said yesterday that you had something to tell me."

"Ahh. Yes, I did. A few things, actually. Like, why is Mikami here?"

"Someone must have invited him." I have no idea.

"Someone."

"Does it matter?"

"We can discuss that behind closed doors. Sadly, there are few doors on this boat to close."

"It is sad. I'm sure that we can find some though."

"A baby's changing room, maybe?"

"Yeah."

He returns my smile. In the world, we're the only two people who know why we're smiling, and I've never had that before. When I smiled, no one knew why but me. I was getting used to idea of forgetting and obliterating what's past so it never happened at all, it was fine. But now I won't lose it, I could have everything. It's just one mistake in my life; just one small rock I tripped over which changed nothing but me. The road is still the same. I want to take him back to my apartment like I used to, but someone else is living there now, in our rooms. I want the love and the sorrow even if I'm broken by it.

This is all very nice until he looks like he's just asked me to set fire to myself.

"Sorry," he says. "This shit ain't easy, is it? All that's past should stay there."

"L, could we go back to that day? There's something I want to do that I wasn't able to do then."

"Which day?"

"The last time I saw you."

"Yesterday?" he laughs, knowing exactly which day I mean. "You always were a charming bastard, Prime Minister. We can't go back."

"We don't have to. You never left."

For a minute there he knew that I was right, but he turns his face away from me suddenly to look back at the water, destroying the moment like it was a piece of paper he's just ripped up.

"Do you hear that?" he asks.

"Hear what?"

"I thought I heard something out there."

"I don't hear anything apart from waves and these fuckwits. What did you think you heard?"

"It must be just me who can hear it then."

"I can't really call you a doctor right now. Can you hang on until we dock before you crack up?"

"B thinks that it's –"

"I've had enough of him. I don't care what B thinks. What do _you_ think it is?" I really have had it up to my neck with B. B can piss off.

"That this reminds of when I was a kid. Trapped in a place with people I hate, surrounded by water."

"Thanks."

"I didn't mean you. My parents used to take us to this place in the middle of nowhere by the sea and it was fantastic. I mean that sarcastically, by the way. My parents hated each other and I hated my brothers, so it was a great idea for us to go on family holidays. What could be better than to lock ourselves in a tiny, over-priced, rented house for weeks with nothing to do but make each other's lives a misery? We went every year until I was fourteen. I read a story while I was there about a city that was flooded. I mean, completely submerged by the sea."

"What, Atlantis? Did you find Atlantis? I'll be disappointed with anything else."

"Ha! No, not Atlantis, but something like it. I knew that it wasn't true but... The story is that you can see the spires of the churches in the sea and hear the bells under the water during storms, all those lies made up by nutters. I spent nearly every day sitting on the cliff, reading and listening for bells in the rain because I didn't want to go back. And I made myself believe that I heard them. I wanted it to be true, and I've heard them ever since. Only sometimes, like now. It's why I don't like open water or the rain much; it reminds me of it, and I keep hearing these imaginary fucking bells," he sighs, closing his eyes as he palms his forehead. "God, I wonder where Stephen is. Introduce me to Kiyomi again."

I wasn't expecting that. He zones in on Kiyomi like a target missile, leaving me wondering _who_ Stephen is. I don't want L to speak to Kiyomi or to anyone but me right now, because even when he makes no sense it's still preferable to what everyone else says. This chat with Kiyomi is unlikely to end well. She isn't too impressed with him, particularly since she received his RSVP back for the wedding invitation she sent against my advice. His reply was, 'Fuck no.' I follow him to Kiyomi and arrive just in time to hear him break up her conversation with my Head of Defence. She looks like she's made of steel and her back visibly stiffens when she sees him. Her lipstick is almost black and cruel in this light as she looks at me for reassurance or to explain why I'm allowing L to stand anywhere near her.

"Hi," he says.

"Hello," she replies.

"Kiyomi, due to my hereditary rudeness, I think that we got off on the wrong foot last time we met, and for that, I'm sorry. I'd like us to start again if you can forgive me. Your ring is really very expensive looking. It screams Cartier. When I saw it I thought Cartier. Cartier, in the flesh."

Since she's not as idiotic as other people, she's cautious at first. After a pause, she realises that it might a genuine apology, or at least she'll accept it as one, and she smiles, taking his hand and his penitence.

"There's nothing to forgive. It's a shame that you couldn't make the wedding. It was so bad. Did Light tell you? The civil one was ok but the traditional one was almost funny."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'm doubly sorry to have missed it now."

"You were in London, weren't you? Come and sit with us. I want to hear all about it," she says, covering her eyes when a blast of cold air hits our faces as someone tries to close one of the windows. She's already walking away and expecting us to join her.

"Just do what she says. It's easier," I advise him. "Jeevas is here. Feel free to maul him because I'm not allowed to."

"Why?"

"He's ill and I'm told that it's in bad taste for me to be anything but nice to him now."

Yes, poor Jeevas has been diagnosed with a sadly incurable disease. Diseases, actually. Individually, they might be treatable, but as a conglomeration of attack they've fucked him to the point that sometimes he can't stand properly with or without heavy medication. He doesn't mind since he's having the time of his life, but what he's suffering from is also ravaging and he now has a greenish tinge to his skin. Before that happened he simply lost weight and ran around showing off his new and slightly impressive cheekbones, but thankfully he just looks ill now with no benefits. He can't work anymore (not that he ever did), but for Naomi's sake I've put him back on salary for as long as I can. I also personally contribute to his medical bills, and that's the only thing that stops him from running around with wild and fantastic stories so he can pay for them himself. I'll also have that philanthropic act leaked to the press at a convenient time. He has his morphine and he doesn't care how he gets it or who pays for it as long as he has it. Now that seeing L again has gone as well as I could have hoped without him jumping me, I'll set him on Jeevas if necessary. I like to meet with Jeevas often to see how he declines as his disease progresses. It is very sad.

I walk with L to a cornered off part of the ship which is full of tables, and people around us stare at me, which I'm used to now. I'm used to being stared at, but at least now it's for who I am more than for what I look like. It's a bit of both, probably, because it's so important to be charismatic and attractive in politics, and it's served me very well so far. When we get to the table we're thrown headlong into the middle of Jeevas, who's talking bollocks.

"I went astral and –"

"Oh, I love that club," Kiyomi interrupts as she sits down, exchanging an air kiss on the cheek with Naomi.

"Fucking amazing club," Mikami agrees. It makes Jeevas snap.

"It's not a club! I _projected_. Astrally. In an out-of-body way. Rose above and saw myself in the car. The shit I've seen, man. The elves were pristine."

"It's called being intoxicated, Matt," Naomi tells him, smiling at me at me as I sit down. Everyone smiles at me apart from Jeevas, who just looks at me coldly and throws sushi into his mouth.

"Where's your guitar, Jeevas? Let's belt out a chorus of 'Helter Skelter' and drop some acid," I say. "Then if we've got time we can kill some hairdressers and talk about how God is an alien lizard."

And then the expected delicate waterfall of women's laughter comes. It pleases me that Naomi can laugh so easily when I'm jabbing needles into her husband. Of course, Kiyomi is obligated to laugh on command.

"You're killing me," Jeevas mumbles through his food when he can't ignore me any longer. It's quite ironic really, because something else is slowly killing him as he speaks. All he can do now is pump himself full of drugs and wait for death. "We've ordered already. Sorry, PM. I'm gutted."

"I didn't expect you to wait. For you, having a brain is surplus to requirements," I reply as I flap open the wine menu for effect. L silently draws a chair up between myself and Mikami, but his presence has been noted.

"Oh, and Lawliet! Haven't see you for a while. I thought that you were dead," Jeevas coughs. I can almost hear his heart and lungs clicking like his bones.

"Sorry to disappoint you," L says. He looks like he's in some kind of religious contemplation. An enthusiastic waiter appears and he wants our order and he wants it now. He'll endeavour to impress us with his machine-like efficiency and speed. L orders another bottle of wine for the table and I have what I usually have when I see it on the menu. No need to stray when you find what's right for you, and it's hard for even the worst chef to balls up raw fish. If I'm sick after sashimi, they will pay. I hope it's sustainably sourced fish because that's a very important government drive at the moment.

"Do they do any salads without any shit on it?" Kiyomi whispers to Naomi, handing her the menu. Naomi must point out which salad has no shit on it and Kiyomi orders that and something non-starchy. This is all part of her new detox regime which is mostly made up of cabbages and green tea from what I can tell.

"How did everything go, Lawliet?" Mikami asks. "Did I hear right that your father died? Does that mean that you own the law firm now?"

"It went fine. Yes, he did die. And yes, I own it now. There was an exciting court case planned but my brother wisely decided to drop it in the end. I hate it when people do that. I wasn't even allowed my moment in court and a lap of victory.

"But you're still working here?" he perseveres. 'Here' means the government, but to anyone outside of the government, 'here' sounds likes it could mean the boat, the whole of Tokyo, the whole of Japan or the whole fucking planet. Even though Mikami hasn't been 'here' for some time now, he hasn't adjusted to life outside and considers the House his true home even though he's still an exile at present.

"Our esteemed and bountiful Prime Minister has granted me an office in the Kantei, no less."

Jeevas' lips purse up like a shrivelling oyster under hot lights. "That's because you were always his favourite. Can't beat a bit of cronyism in the ranks, eh, Lawliet?"

"I feel special. I admit."

"It's actually because PR is integral to a stable government," I chip in. "I think we've learned our lesson about cronyism from The Lady's tenure. I'm trying not to be insulted that you think I'd be so corrupt, Jeevas, but let me tell you, it's quite difficult."

"Yes," L nods slowly. "There you are, and from the horse's mouth. I'm not special, I'm just integral to a stable government."

Mikami can't seem to get his head around L's time management skills.

"But how do you run the firm and work here exactly? They're two full-time jobs, aren't they?"

I study L's face and feel my own tense with a worry I had last considered just after he left - that if he won the firm, he'd try to get out of his governmental obligations by finding some small escape hatch in his contract. He'd find one even if there wasn't one to be found. He'd get the dictionary out, start reinterpreting the terms and convince the judge that the dictionary was incorrect. The thought of him doing this seemed so likely to me at the time that I moved him into check by having my office reissue him with his contract and informing him that he was expected to return as soon as possible. I decided not to include a note telling him that if he didn't, then I would sue him for everything he had and shoot him in the fucking face, which I thought was quite restrained.

"The partners who didn't attempt to steal my inheritance from me are running the day-to-day business and I get a round-up of daily events. We also have meetings on Saturdays. We had one this morning, as it happens. It was thrilling," he answers, looking particularly irritated by Mikami and his question.

"Is the round-up of daily events like a newsletter? Naomi gets one of those with little bouncing rabbits on the header, don't you, love?" Jeevas mutters, inspecting his mummified nails. L glares at him but it has little to no effect.

"Or they call if there's anything urgent," he says, turning to glare at Mikami instead. "It doesn't affect my work in PR."

"Didn't want to suggest that it would," Mikami laughs with difficulty. "Just sounds like a lot of work."

"I manage."

An awkward silence follows during which Jeevas consistently grins while he chews on his food. Since L is obviously feeling violent and annoyed now, he goes straight for the jugular.

"You look sincerely unwell, Jeevas."

"Why, thank you, Lawliet. It's very kind of you to let me know that."

"I hope it's serious."

"Boys, please," Kiyomi says, like she's the mother of all of us. Yet more food arrives to fill the table and I sneak a 'take me' smile at L, who doesn't see it. He's being told by the waiter that they're not supposed to serve alcohol in this area without it being accompanied by a meal. L launches into an aggressive defence about how he's already eaten elsewhere and that this waiter and the company he represents are encouraging obesity, type two diabetes, high cholesterol and blocked arteries, making them responsible for that burden on the health service. The waiter apologises and gives him his wine free of charge, probably because I'm here and he doesn't want to upset me so much that I'll raise taxes. Jeevas pops a pill in between pushing mouthfuls of food into the hole in his face, and everyone pretends that he's not, even though he makes a big deal of rattling the tablets in the bottle.

"It's not _pissing_ fair that some people think that they can live by different rules," he says, scowling at L and his free wine. "You have to order food with your wine. That's how it is."

"Last time I checked, we weren't living in a communist country. We are not equal. You can abide by the rules, but I choose not to because I'm superior to you in every sense."

Oh my good God.

"By the way, Lawliet-san," Kiyomi says, disrupting the massacre again, "thank you for the wedding gift. We loved it, didn't we, Light?"

I didn't know that he'd sent us anything apart from wishes for apocalyptic weather. After seeing the five identical juicers which Kiyomi had lined up in the kitchen, I lost interest in the presents.

"You sent us a gift? What was it?" I ask him.

"I can't remember now," L answers cheerfully. Kiyomi looks confused by my interest, instead of my usual and expected yes or no when I don't know what she's talking about. L and I both look to her for an answer, since she brought it up, and her face is broken by a guilty grimace.

"I don't remember either, I'm sorry. But it was very nice and we loved it."

"You're welcome. I'm glad that it was so memorable," L laughs. I think he takes my sigh to mean that I don't like his sarcasm with Kiyomi. It's not that at all and I couldn't care less really, I just wonder what the present was. It was probably a juicer. "Belated congratulations," he adds.

"Thank you," Kiyomi's chopsticks make a gentle piano-like sound as she places them on her plate. "So, how was London?"

"Everyone has a beard now, even the women, especially in Shoreditch. They all wear tweed too, which Light warned me about but I didn't -"

"Not too happy, Yagami? You look sour," Jeevas interrupts. "Can't have that. Happiness isn't on the agenda for this parliamentary term."

Shut up shut up shut up and let L speak, you walking corpse. His sushi drops out of his chopsticks and he curses their combined stupidity instead of himself.

And I take Mikami's steak knife and throw it at Jeevas' forehead. It slides right into his skull like it was going through nothing at all. I have very good aim, which doesn't surprise me. He sinks down slowly under the table as a tiny trickle of blood runs in a line down the side of his nose. His eyes roll back a little, his mouth falls open and everyone carries on eating. They haven't noticed. Then I realise that it didn't happen. I let my lips stretch into a crescent of good humour and expose all my incisors to him instead.

"I'd like to see this as a very optimistic time, both for me and my wife, but also for the nation," I say. "I hope you're around to see it."

"Light," Kiyomi whispers.

"I'm in offline mode."

"Yes, but Naomi."

"Oh, yes. Sorry."

"Light, we've been friends for a long time," Naomi reminds me, "so could you just try to be nice to my husband for one hour, please?"

"I would be nice to your husband, but you married Jeevas, and he's smirking at me."

"I'm not smirking," he smirks.

"Is that a smirk? I think that's a smirk."

"It's a smirk," L concludes.

"Stop it, Matt," she tells him. "We all know that you're not well but that doesn't mean that you can be rude. Stop being smug and stop smirking at Light."

She's slowly becoming used to the continued battering of her sensitive nature. She's the sort of person who should live in a hut on a hill with some small dogs and see no one, speak to no one, never watch the news or read the papers or do anything which has the potential to upset her. She could cope when Penber was around as he balanced out the bad and good for her. Jeevas is just bad, and now he waves his hand up and down limply at the table.

"Don't worry, she was like this when Mihael and I had a farting competition the other night. These fuckawful steroids give me wind, man. Serious wind. Blew him out of the building, didn't I, love? Mustard gassed the fucker. It was like the Battle of the Somme."

"I don't want to be reminded of it, thank you. And stop swearing."

More food arrives, by which time Naomi, Mikami and Jeevas have finished their mains and get their desserts, so there is peace for a blissful time. Everyone chews while L keeps looking towards the exit on a regular basis.

"Oh, are you looking for Mihael? I saw him around somewhere. Go and find him if you want," I say to him. He obviously doesn't want to be here at all, and I'm here, so I don't understand that at all. None of us want to be here, but he could at least try to look engaged.

"He's here?" Jeevas gasps, immediately looking around the boat as far as he can see for his one true idiot in arms. L coughs into his hand before he speaks.

"Mihael and I aren't speaking at the moment apart from to tell each other to go away in several different languages. I'd rather no one brought him over because I've exhausted my vocabulary."

"What's he done?" I ask. "It's not about Halle is it? That's old news."

"It's not about Halle, but I'm sorry that you felt that you had to fire her."

"We disagreed."

"The way I heard it, you bullied her until she left."

"No nothing like that. Of course she'd say that to you. She was dismissed, which was handled in accordance to her very temporary contract, but it makes me the devil incarnate anyway. Truth is, she had certain weaknesses which made her unsuitable."

Jeevas guffaws like a five-year old. "I like women with weaknesses."

"Would one of those weaknesses include Mihael?" L asks me, ignoring Jeevas with the expertise I thought that only I was capable of. "I heard. It's the leather."

"I found her unprofessional in a lot of ways."

"As opposed to me, since I'm the paragon of professionalism."

"She tried her best, I suppose. Her best just wasn't very good."

"Or, to be specific, she tried her best with Mihael. Perhaps she was too busy chasing him and that's where it all went wrong? I had to give him a very stern telling off. My poor golden boy is traumatised."

"Is he?"

"No, he isn't, but she probably is, the stupid woman. Mihael... no. Just look at the way he dresses himself. You don't touch him because he'll tear you to pieces and everyone knows that."

"I didn't touch him," I say, forgetting for a second that other people are here.

"I'm glad to hear that but I was speaking generally," he replies. "I'm sorry that it had a detrimental effect on their work. It certainly was a team effort by all accounts."

"I wish I'd known."

"I wouldn't have suggested her if I'd known. You should have seen what she did to his back. Don't worry, we have all suffered. I'm sorry that my staff have libidos but it's not my fault. I can't be held accountable for who's going to start knobbing who."

"I didn't mean that it was your fault, I just won't stand for sexual harassment in the workplace," I say robotically, surprised by his defensiveness. "Any kind of harassment is completely against my ethics. There's a list of work standards and practices included in their contracts. Does anyone actually read their contract?"

"No, such is the curse of small print, but it wasn't harassment since her attention wasn't exactly unwanted," he explains, cracking a tiny, forced smile.

"Hey, Lawliet! Now that you're back, you and Yagami can take up your tennis again. Bit of fencing, y'know what I mean? Bit of how's your father," Jeevas says, furious not be the centre of every conversation. He leans towards us on his bony elbows. L mirrors the pose and everything about him is beautiful with hatred. To stop myself from making an embarrassing noise which would probably make me sound like a chicken running into a wall and climaxing, I drink my wine and think about dynamic stochastic general equilibrium.

"What are you talking about, you insane little man?" L asks.

"I just remember how you loved your tennis."

"Would you like a game of tennis, Jeevas? Don't tell me that all you've ever wanted was to have a rally with me and that's the only reason you've always been such a dick. I'm not sure if it's legal to do that in your state of health, I'd have to check. I'm afraid that I might kill you."

"Naomi, please exert some control over your husband?" Kiyomi pleads. That a woman is sticking her nose in and sticking up for me and a relative stranger makes Jeevas explode with fury.

"Kiyomi, this is nothing to do with you! We do this banter all the time. Me and Yagami, and Lawliet too when he's actually in the country. It keeps us alive."

"We must stop then," I say. "I'd hate to think that you're hanging around just for our sake. Don't you have a hospital to book into? I'll write a cheque."

"Yes, it must stop, Matt," Kiyomi agrees. "If you say anything else to provoke anyone at this table, I will stick my heel in your groin to save them putting a catheter in there."

"Hahahhahaaa!"

"You think that I'm joking?"

"Calm down, love. Jesus. Is the PMS getting you down?"

"Don't be so patronising."

"Yeah, Matt. Please stop talking. Eat your mango and morphine before it gets cold," Naomi begs, very upset now that Kiyomi's involved.

"It was served cold; it's a sorbet, woman. Maybe Yagami should put his dog on a leash?" he says snidely. I very nearly choke on my tuna but swallow just in time. I'm just about to slap Jeevas the fuck down because I think bets are off now, but Kiyomi puts her hand on my arm.

"Don't worry, Light. I can handle this. Matt. This is because I wouldn't have sex with you, isn't it?"

"What?" Naomi shrieks, and I put my chopsticks down with a clatter on the plate as I laugh.

"Shit, Kiyomi, that was years ago," Jeevas chucks back. "And I was drunk. I must have been."

"It was a year ago, actually."

"Oh my God! My best friend, Matt. My best friend?" Naomi shrieks again. Their marriage is turning out to be a dream made of cyanide. I pick up my chopsticks again, having recovered from my brief fit of amusement.

"This is a bad habit of yours, Jeevas. You seem to appreciate my taste, which I suppose is flattering somehow. I'm not angry, I just find it funny and brave of you in a suicidal kind of way. What happened exactly, Kiyomi?" I ask.

"It's not worth talking about. It'll ruin my salmon."

"Fuck the salmon! I want a re-enactment and please do expressions."

"Maybe later," she waves me off. She's noticed that Naomi is drinking her wine like she's been in the Sahara for a month. "Sorry, Naomi."

"It's ok. I'm the one who's sorry," she replies, pouring herself another glass. Mikami wisely takes the wine bottle away from her because she doesn't handle her drink very well. Jeevas shifts in his chair so he's as far from Naomi as he can manage without leaving the room.

"Nah, it never happened,"

"That's the funniest thing I've ever heard, Matt," Kiyomi says, completely dull in tone.

"No, you're forgetting about when he said that he'd love, honour and obey," I remind her. Her teeth look almost pastel blue in their whiteness against her dark red lipstick. We're like two despots in an alliance and it's such a comfortable situation. Perfect, actually.

"I wish that I'd been there. What you need is a good lawyer, Naomi," she smiles, inclining her head pointedly towards L. Naomi's eyes become immediately liquid at the idea.

"Oh, stop it, please!"

"People tend to enter into marriage without thinking about it," L comments calmly, drifting into some dreamtime for lawyers. "They're all so full of stupid romantic notions that they forget that it is a legal and binding contract, and long may it continue. What I like is how dirty divorce cases can be. I almost specialised in it, actually, but then mediation and mutual agreements became vogue and ruined it for me. Perjury is hardly ever prosecuted here, so I used to hear the most brilliantly overwrought stories of abuse and misconduct. Obviously I urge my clients to do this because I love a bitter divorce. I'm a bit busy at the moment, but I'd be happy to advise, Naomi, and I have an excellent divorce lawyer who can represent you. I'll add my fees onto Jeevas' expenses if you decide to do the right thing."

"Oi! Shut up, you!" Jeevas stands, probably thinking that L should be intimidated by a skeleton in a science lab. My eyes flicker back longingly towards Mikami's steak knife until Naomi, at a loss without her bottle of wine, leaves the table suddenly like a fleeing princess. It's so like her that I almost groan from the predictability. God knows where she thinks she's going unless she's going to find a lifejacket and swim to shore. Disturbingly, Jeevas must think the same thing. I must be tired.

"Naomi, where are you going? We're on a fucking boat!" he calls out after her, stopping when people on neighbouring tables start pretending that they're not looking at him. After flinging himself back onto his chair again, he takes the wine bottle from Mikami. "Fuck you very much, Kiyomi."

"What did you say?"

"I said: 'Thank you very much, Kiyomi.'"

"I'll go after her," Mikami mutters. I thought that he'd find this funny too. I'm disappointed. Jeevas smacks his back as he leaves.

"Cheers, Miki. Smooth it over for me, yeah? Bloody women."

"The women's liberation movement totally passed you by, didn't it, Matt?" Kiyomi says. "So did just being a decent person. All you do is snort various things up your nose and treat Naomi badly. She'll see that she's wasting her time on you, as is the whole human race, and she'll find someone better. Maybe she already has."

"What do you mean?" he asks, with wide, dry eyes, but Kiyomi only taps the end of her nose with her finger. I don't know what she means either. I'll have to ask her later. L reaches in front of me with his hand outstretched. I want to grab it and thank him for being born.

"Kiyomi, I'd like to shake your hand," he says. Oh.

"It was a pleasure," she smiles back at him as they clasp hands over my plate. This could be described as heartwarming. I imagine that, after a few more evenings like this, we'll be wearing Christmas jumpers and talking about our situation over mulled wine in a log cabin. All I can look at is his blushed lips compared to her painted ones and think of what a wreck they've made of me in their different ways.

"Bitch," Jeevas snipes venomously at Kiyomi, breaking my train of thought.

"Please?"

I sigh loudly. For one brief moment, I'd forgotten that he was still here. "Jeevas, get the fuck out of here."

"Just sack him, darling," Kiyomi tells me. "Properly, this time." She's very bored with her orange juice and is swilling it around in the glass in the hope that it might make it more interesting.

"You two are so perfect for each other it makes me sick. Even more than I was anyway," Jeevas spits at us. He throws some notes on the table which I don't think will cover both his and Naomi's part of the bill. I'll probably end up paying for Mikami too unless he comes back.

"Never mind. Maybe one day you'll find your very own perfect partner. Bacteria or something like that," Kiyomi says. He smiles back at her sarcastically and climbs out of one of the windows and onto the deck outside. If only there was no deck. I could cover up the splash and screaming with a long, fake coughing fit and the panic that would ensue. I'm left with my two favourite people at the table. They balance me out nicely, so I'm quite happy with how this turned out. I might even order dessert.

"Hey."

We all turn to find some tall, dark-haired Westerner standing behind L, who looks pale against the man's weak attempt at a tan. If you're going to tan, do it properly. He must work outdoors. He looks like someone I'd expect to find shirtless and pruning rose bushes in someone's garden. God, I hope that he's not an assassin who's going to tell me why he's going to shoot me before he does. He could at least spare me that.

"Hey," L replies, and it surprises me. I look between them, trying to figure out if I recognise the man or whether L's just come back with improved manners and a liking for gardening assassins. L's friends all seem to look the same, but this one is scruffy around the edges and is dressed very badly. It's possible that I've met him and forgotten. He seems very forgettable.

"So _this_ is where you disappeared to. Am I interrupting something?" the man says. Well, yes, actually. Who the fuck are you and why are you here? He speaks decent Japanese but he has an accent from somewhere I can't place. Thankfully, I see my bodyguard appear behind him, so I'm alright.

"Can I help you?" I ask. My guard is going to help him the hell away from me soon but I must at least give him a chance to have something to tell his grandchildren one day.

"Prime Minister Yagami, isn't it? And Mrs Yagami! Why didn't you tell me?" he asks L for some reason. "I would have..."

"Brushed your hair?" L suggests flatly.

"Yeah," he laughs, pressing his blown about rat's bed of a hairstyle down. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting business. I'm just sorry if I'm interrupting."

"You're not. Do you want to go? It's just that we're kind of stuck on here until the captain's had enough," L says. I am infinitely confused. Is this a pick up? Do they even know each other? I know that L works fast but not this fast. He's doing this on purpose and forcing me to sit through it, isn't he? Bastard. I feel my eyes narrow when I realise what he's trying to do. And there was me thinking that he was going to be reasonable in this. L stares down my bodyguard, who has his hand prepped on the gun at his hip. The stranger turns around and notices how close he is to death.

"Whoa, is that a Sig P230?!" he asks excitedly, taking the gun from the guard's holster and turning it over in his hands. "I haven't seen one of these for years! Is this what they issue you with now? My uncle had one of these when I was a kid."

"That's very interesting. Now give the nice man his gun back," L says, delicately pinching the barrel between two fingers, taking it out of the man's hands and offering it to my bodyguard, who looks dazed. I'll have to get more officers sent over from the Security Bureau to replace him because he's obviously hopeless and this is humiliating.

"It's alright, you can go," Kiyomi tells the guard. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend, Lawliet-san?" she asks. L makes no move to explain and the lunatic next to him laughs after a few seconds of waiting.

"Obviously not. It's always me who has to take the initiative, isn't it?" he says to L before bowing to Kiyomi and I deeply. "I'm Stephen Gevanni. Pleased to meet you. I didn't think that I'd be meeting the Prime Minister and his wife on a boat after seeing a Hitchcock retrospective. What a day."

As soon as he says his name, I look at L, who's purposefully avoiding me, and he's standing now like he's ready to run off. Straight back into awkwardness again then. I don't know what all this is supposed to signify but it's a piss poor attempt and a waste of time. It genuinely hurts me that he felt that he'd have to stoop to this level just to get my attention. While I sit there without words, Kiyomi decides to play hostess.

"Pleased to meet you too. I'm Kiyomi and this is my husband, Light, and please, no formalities. You went to the retrospective? My sister is the curator there. Which film did you see?" she says. She clearly likes this stranger who's straight out of a fortune teller's crystal ball and would like him as part of our social circle. I have no say in it.

"We saw _Vertigo_ this afternoon. Tell your sister that she's done a great job. We had a good time," the Gevanni man answers. _Vertigo_? What the fucking fuck? On the face of it, it doesn't mean anything, but I know that it's one of L's favourite films and he has a poster from it on his living room wall. Well, he did at one point. And they had a good _shitting_ time. Fuck.

"I've never seen that film! Sit down, Stephen," Kiyomi more or less commands him.

L watches this 'Stephen' man and all his teeth sit next to Kiyomi. He continues to stand for a few moments before sitting back down himself in Mikami's chair, opposite me, which is useful because I can decipher his face and shoot daggers at him at the same time.

"I'd never seen it before either, don't worry," Gevanni admits. Oh, he means _Vertigo_. He's very nice and polite and honest, isn't he? I dislike him intensely. He's just barged in on a private party, is trying to steal L, demonstrated how useless my bodyguard is, he's suddenly my wife's best friend and all in the space of three minutes. "L said that I had to see it or he wouldn't be able to have a decent conversation with me about anything ever again,' he says, turning to L with an insipid smile.

"It's essential," L informs us like he's Roger fucking Ebert. "If you haven't seen it, you're culturally and emotionally void so, no, I wouldn't be able to talk to you."

"Have you seen it, Prime Minister?" Gevanni asks, desperate to include me in the conversation. "Please tell me that I'm not the only one who was, until now, culturally and emotionally void."

I don't reply, I just look him over. Him and his blue eyes and his cheap suit. I'm amazed that he found something so cheap that it looks intentional. Maybe it's an anti-establishment statement? He looks like he could be that kind of cunt. It's too tight and short in the arms and the padding at the shoulders is shit on a stick. No cufflinks. Terrible tie. Has he stuffed the end of the tie through his shirt like a schoolboy? I want to see his shoes to make a complete evaluation, although I'm almost certain that they're going to be scuffed brown loafers which he's wearing over white cotton socks. They're probably machine overlocked by three-year-olds who are paid a peanut a day in a sweat shop. I only ever wear hand-linked silk or cashmere socks unless I'm running. Natural fibre on the leg and instep, reinforced with microfibre at the toe and heel for increased durability, fit and wicking properties. They're just better. He wouldn't know what a properly finished sock looks like. The whole thing is a disaster. He's a disaster.

"Light?" Kiyomi prompts me, but gives up quickly and goes back to Gevanni. "Ignore him, he's got a headache. What's it like?"

"It was... weird and depressing. I liked it more than the one about the killer birds though. There's some great lines in it. What was that one, L? The one you like? The line she says to Jimmy Stewart when they're in the forest."

"Here I was born, and there I died," L answers.

"It was only a moment for you. You took no notice," I say slowly, perfectly still in my chair and in perfect, memorised English, completing the quote. His eyes flash back to mine and I love the colour of them. I've been waiting for them and for them to look at me properly. They reflect everything they see back at you, filtering and changing them with his thoughts like mine do, but no one else sees it. No, you didn't think I'd watch that film, did you? I remember looking at the poster in his house and thinking that the orange madness of it was kind of ugly. Then L talked about the film as we stood in front of the framed print like we were in an art gallery. I think I was bored then. It was a long time ago. He said that line to me. He told me about the scene because it was his favourite. When I actually watched the film a few weeks after he left, it was just how he'd described it. I felt like I'd seen it before.

"I didn't know that you'd seen it, Light!" Kiyomi says, nudging my shoulder with hers mockingly. "So, you're seeing each other then? Lawliet-san, you dark horse."

Gevanni agrees, nodding his head like one of those crap toys you see in some of those independent taxis that I tried to avoid when I had need of them. He turns towards L, making him break his eyes away from mine. I hate him as much as I hate murderers.

"It's a shit film. I'm glad you liked it," I tell him. Yes, Prime Ministers can swear too. I am not safe for work right now. The look on their faces is priceless.

"Is the ship docking?" L asks Gevanni.

"I don't know. I could find out if you want," he says, his expression changing like water into ice. I should be saying that. L should be asking me and I'd be desperate to leave with him. Desperate to get away from all these people, and Kiyomi and this Gevanni person shouldn't even be here. Gevanni looks worried when faced with L's indecipherable expressions, when I understand him. I put a lot of years in until I did understand him. A lot of thoughts and hours upon hours and words and fucks and bruises and torn muscles until I understood him, and it couldn't be for nothing. Not to be forgotten as an 'experience' and something which passed the time. This is all wrong. Unlike L, he's is one of those idiots who can't hide what they think, and I know everything I need or ever want to know about him. Even my eyes have had enough of him and look down to my lap and the inverted triangle of unfocused patterned carpet in the gap between my legs. My shoes look pointlessly well polished. I feel pointlessly well polished. My shock has become a disbelief and a smouldering anger which might flare up at the slightest thing, but mostly I feel stricken and desolate. Even more so when Kiyomi taps me twice on the arm like I'm a fucking ouija board.

"Light, pour Stephen a drink. So, what do you do? Are you a lawyer too?"

I pour some wine into Kiyomi's unused glass and Gevanni looks at it, offended by the measly amount I've given him, but takes it before answering Kiyomi's question.

"I'm in the CIA," he says proudly, sipping like a bitch. I look at L for an explanation for all this, but he's staring out of the windows now. He couldn't have found any old person, he had to find a foreign agent on holiday, didn't he? Well, I hope he's satisfied.

"Oh..." Kiyomi looks at me, unsure of how to take this news. What's the official opinion? I look up at the ceiling. The government doesn't consider him a threat. He's a simpering moron in a bad suit. She seems to understand this and faces him again. "But you speak Japanese so perfectly!"

"Thank you," he smiles. "That's probably why I was sent. I'm just helping out with a case over here."

"What case?" But he comes over all classified and coy, so she tries to ease him into her trust. "It's ok, you can tell us."

"It's concerning Secretary Wedy's death."

"Oh, yes, that was so sad. She seemed lovely, didn't she, Light? You spoke with her more than I did."

"She was interesting," I say. "Her death was very unfortunate." And beyond that I have nothing to add. Kiyomi rolls her eyes at me. She was expecting my best behaviour and charm for this meeting with a nobody who has the personality of a piece of dry toast. I should say how tragic it is because she was 'lovely' and 'nice' and 'too young' but she was none of those things, it didn't upset me and it wasn't tragic. It was only annoying that she'd decided to die in my country and I knew that I'd be pestered by the press for a few days. I don't want to impress anyone, let alone some agent who probably spends his life eating bagels. I made a short statement which encapsulated my devastation just after she died. If he's worth anything at all, he would know that.

"What did she die of?" Kiyomi digs at Gevanni, her interest piqued with the possibility of scandal, murder and conspiracy. "Any news yet? It's not murder is it?"

"I can't really discuss it, unfortunately. It's confidential," he replies with a regretful smugness. Boring bastard.

"It looks like deep vein thrombosis but these things drag out with multiple autopsies and tests which apparently take eight weeks. I had an office block built in eight weeks; who do they think they're kidding? And how dare a politician die abroad? It has to be suspicious," L elaborates. Gevanni looks at him with the stupid, shocked expression of thousands on his face.

"L!"

"You can't discuss it, but I can."

He glances at me and my smile briefly, but quickly looks back down at the table and starts aligning the cutlery in front of him.

"Ha, you..." Gevanni elbows him before turning back to Kiyomi. "Anyway, I'll be here for another month or so until it winds up."

"Oh, that's sad. Just a few more weeks?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll stay," he says, looking at L's downcast face. The corner of L's lip turns upwards slightly as he breathes out a soundless laugh, and if I could, I'd kill them both right now. I'd do it just to prove a point. If I could stop and reverse time to do all the things I'd like to do, it would take me a year to get through a single day, but I'd start with killing them over and over again.

"The boat's stopped. We'd better go or we'll be trapped here all night," L states, standing. "Kiyomi, thanks for the entertainment."

"You're welcome."

Gevanni stares up at him like he's preparing himself for a huge joke he's missed out on. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you in the car. See you," he says to the table, and walks away. Nothing for me.

"He does that disappearing thing a lot, doesn't he?" Gevanni asks. "Oh well. It was nice to meet you both."

"I hope that you decide to stay, Stephen" Kiyomi says, holding her hand out to shake his.

"So do I, Kiyomi. Prime Minister Yagami."

He bows to me, the little toad, and traipses after L. Kiyomi drinks her orange juice in the silence which enters the stage upon their departure, leans back in her chair in an unguarded moment of terrible posture and holds my hand on my lap.

"And then it's just us," she says.

* * *

**A/N** No idea how all that is going to read to people who aren't full of synthetic chemicals. These characters needed to be on a boat. Don't ask me why, I have pneumonia in one lung. Hurray. I'm still going to a gig later though, so we'll see how that works out. Erm, I had this problem with 'Cure' and someone picked up on it. Some of the play on words things in here wouldn't work in Japanese. There you go. I prefer funnies over reality.

Gevanni! Om nom nom. Not going with 'Stephen Loud' because that's a stupid name. It kills me that I have to write him from Light's shitty, bitchy, biased, tosser point of view. Political!Light makes me laugh in bad ways though ('dynamic stochastic general equilibrium') and I just love/hate him, so it's ok.

Can't remember who mentioned 'Sixteen Saltines' in a review and I can't check (my phone is top of the range at not working properly), but it's on the mixtape. GOOD CHOICE! Better than The Carpenters. Also advance thanks/credit to thebarstool for music recs and all round brilliance. I'm saving them up for the right moment. If I haven't replied to a review lately, sorry. Lung. Thank you. And thanks to whoever put 'A Cure for Love' on goodreads (!). I was told a week or so back that it was there and I didn't believe them until they emailed me the link. It was tvtropes all over again. I didn't even know fanfiction was allowed on there. What is the world coming to? I really, really want to add it to my 'couldn't finish' pile and leave a bad review, but my RL 'we read bad books for lolz every three months' bookgroup follow me on goodreads, and they'd take it as a reading suggestion, so no. Everybody, have some thanks. Ramble, ramble. There was originally no A/N. What happened? Stream of consciousness shit, that's what.

Yes, I researched socks for this chapter. Ask me about socks.


	12. Every Mighty Mild 70s Child Beats Me

**Chapter Twelve**

**Every Mighty Mild Seventies Child Beats Me**

* * *

Near River has turned up at the club. He did a very lethargic clap after one of my many mini speeches in the House this afternoon and everyone stared at him, unsure of what he meant by it. My immediate thought was sarcasm, but having reviewed what I said several times since, I can't see anything he could be sarcastic about. I've decided instead that he was impressed with me. Now that he's turned up tonight in a club as the sole red in a roomful of blue, I think he might be thinking of switching sides. Good for him.

L slides up beside me like he always did, and I continue to watch River with my arms crossed. It's not like I want to give him the impression that I'll welcome him in with open arms. He has to prove himself to me first. That goes for L and River. As for L, I haven't seen him since the party. I was going to go to his office all guns blazing first thing on Monday, but then I thought that that was exactly what he wanted me to do, other things happened and I forgot. He's sniffing like a child who's just been denied an expensive toy, and he's a bit red around the nose. I'd like to think that he's been crying violently and often in toilets scattered around the government quarter. He's gone to the trouble of finding some CIA boyfriend for nothing.

"River again, eh?" he says, clutching his whiskey in two hands. "He gets around for someone with no friends. How long are you going to let him stay for before you kick him out?"

"No. It's fine. He might be thinking of defecting. Let him look around and see how the other half live."

"Really? Are you feeling ok?"

He looks at me in disbelief. I turn to him with my sex face and sex voice, which he's obviously not prepared for even if he wasn't sick.

"Do I look ok?" I ask him slowly. He doesn't know what to say, so he looks away like a shy bastard with a runny nose. "Are you ill?"

"I'm getting over a cold and it's effectively ruined my entire week so far," he mumbles. "Don't worry, it's not contagious anymore, it's just worse when the central heating's on. Please don't give it the attention it so desperately craves."

"Weird looking man, isn't he?" Touta says from my right. He means River. We all look back at the little white Red. I suppose that it would be quite intimidating for him if he saw us glaring and wasn't playing darts on his own.

"There's something repellently fascinating about what passes for a politician nowadays," L breathes out as his head lists to one side like he's half-confused and half-thinking that he might figure him out from a slanted angle. Fascinating is a word he's only applied to me since I've known him, so I find this very irritating.

"Do you think he's one of you?" Touta asks him, and L looks at him inquisitively.

"One of me? Oh, I'm with you. Don't ask me; my gaydar is shit. Light knows this. I know, I know. You wouldn't think it, would you? It's a cruel blow not to be blessed with such an intuitive ability which would be so useful to me, but I can't often tell these days unless men let me know in a rimming sort of way. When I was at university, you were either Quentin Crisp and therefore obvious, or you wore a flat cap in a jaunty way and maybe a harness of some kind. There was a whole sub-language for everyone else. I miss the clarity. This metrosexualism has made life so complicated for me.

"Don't get any ideas, Lawliet," Touta tells him as we all resume staring at River. "He's red."

"Please, I'm a happily one-manned man, but I can still admire things in a detached way. It merely proves my devotion that I won't follow it up. Besides, I can't imagine _that_ doing anything vaguely sexual. He reminds me of one of those marble statues in the Vatican. Nothing too raunchy to get the bishops into a frenzy, just a chaste youth with a far away look in his eyes." He strokes his chin lightly with the tip of his finger and I see an opportunity to make him revert back to his normal philandering self, make him laugh, get rid of Mr CIA and get some goods on the opposition at the same time.

"It could be a challenge," I say. "I could commission you."

"Light!" Touta exclaims. I'm not sure why.

"Oh, shut up, Touta."

"Light, what are you suggesting?" L asks. "I'm not the House tart you can whore out to extract information. It's a shame that Jeevas is no longer here. He'd probably jump at the chance, regardless of gender. Doesn't he look pure though. He's like the anti-you. Glorious and angelic and hope eternal. Stands a chance."

Touta is scandalised further even though I smile at the heresy that there could be a time when I'm beaten and not in power. "That's a horrible thing to -"

"Shut up, Matsuda. I'm not talking to you," L says curtly.

"Light?"

"He wasn't talking to you, Touta. I doubt that he'd win even if I died and Watari was leader. With that complexion, he shouldn't even consider wearing a white suit. No one should wear a white suit anyway."

"Apart from John Travolta," L suggests.

"Not even him. I can forgive him because it was the seventies and men's style went into hibernation during that decade, but no."

"I hear that he's done irreversible damage to his testicles since those tight trousers. I don't really remember the seventies - I was too young to appreciate genitalia - but I do remember my brother wearing a pair of white flares which he couldn't sit down in, a bit like John Travolta. I'm going to talk to him."

"Is John Travolta here?" Touta asks as L makes a beeline for River. I realise then that I don't really want him to philander.

"L, come back," I demand. It's proof of his intelligence that he actually does what I say.

"Prime Minister, I'm simply being friendly. Don't tell me that you're worried because they've sacked their Head of PR? Are you concerned that I might fly the nest into his pale thighs and turn red?"

"Not at all. I want to speak to you."

"Go on then."

"In private. Make yourself available at from eleven on Monday for a meeting. I'll come to your office because I'm having my walls repainted. Don't make any plans for lunch or the early afternoon."

"This sounds like a very long meeting," he says suspiciously.

"We have seven months worth of work to catch up on thanks to the fantastic substitute you recommended while you were away."

"I'm almost certain that I've caught up with your memos," he muses, scratching his head with a crooked finger. Nothing annoys me more than when he plays stupid and coy.

"L, do you want to be disciplined?" I ask.

"No."

"Then stop making excuses and do it. Thank you."

He resumes his place next to me and slumps back against the wall. We stand in silence then while he tears open a powdered flu remedy and pours it into his whiskey. Straight into the bloodstream. Go.

* * *

When I get home, all the lights are already on, which is one of the good and bad things about having a wife. I don't have to bother putting lights on, but the electricity bill has tripled as a result. It's just as well that it's a state expense and not mine.

"Light?" she calls out. I'm not sure who else she thinks it might be.

"Hello," I shout back. She appears from around a corner wearing a black plastic cape and has silver foil in her hair. I think that maybe she's trying to communicate with interplanetary craft.

"Welcome home," she says, kissing my cheek quickly.

"What's with the –"

"Don't talk to me about it. I'm wretched. Actually wretched. You should see the mess this woman has made of my hair. She's trying to fix it now. 'Subtle highlights', I said. What did I get? Ginger and bright blonde. Brassy as a trumpet." As speaks she she starts to choke on her devastation, patting her chest with her flat hand to ease herself through the horror. I stand there emotionless.

"But she's fixing it," I clarify for the good of my own peace of mind.

"That's what she says."

"It's half eleven, you know."

"I _know_!" she nearly shrieks but gets a hold of herself. "I want to stab her in the eye with her scissors."

"Right. Well, I'm going to bed."

"Ok. Oh, you know that we have an appointment tomorrow."

"I have to be there?"

"Not if you really don't want to. It does concern you and it is important but it's fine. I'll take Naomi."

I sigh heavily. "What time is the appointment?"

"One o'clock," is the answer. I nod and she kisses me on the lips, just as quickly as she did before, and walks back to wherever she came from. I hear her saying to an apologetic hairdresser that it really is alright, she's very pleased with her hair and that they're doing a great job. I think that one day I might bite her nipples off.

* * *

I meet Mihael first and tell him that I've come to speak to L. Yes, 'to', not 'with' L. L doesn't have to say a thing. In fact, I'd rather that he didn't. The blonde scrounger huffs, opens the door with such storming force as he goes into L's office so that it smacks against the wall and comes back at me. I consider this a disrespectful way to announce my arrival, considering who I am now. L's at his desk and, as I walk in, I catch him closing his laptop. Seeing him there, still willowy, though not as much as he used to be, makes me feel that it really was worth waking up this morning. When I first met him, I thought that he should go to the gym, eat more protein and work harder, but then it just didn't seem to matter anymore. I'm exactly as I was when I was twenty one. I do not change, but he comes back different. I'm almost sad that he's not the same half-dead, bright-eyed, smiling thing that left me standing on the pavement months ago. Part of me has been standing there ever since.

"It makes me very nervous when you smile at me like that," he says as he bends over to put some things in a drawer. I didn't realise that I was smiling. I hate it when someone points out that my face isn't doing its job. My face is my fort. I rely on it to never show what I'm thinking.

"I'm sorry that it's so unappealing," I say, as casually as I can. There's a large framed picture on his wall which catches my attention because I've never seen it before. Not in L's office. It's a smaller Ogata Gekko print that I used to have in my office years ago.

"The Sino-Japanese wars interest me. War interests me," he tells me, referring to the topic of the print and possibly trying to excuse the fact that he owns it in the first place.

"Yes. How was _Vertigo_ for you? I don't think that you said."

"It was nice to see it on a big screen but it ended as badly as it always does. Fucking nuns," he replies.

"What's all this about nuns with vertigo fucking?" Mihael asks from his desk. I had an separate office built for him, but he's moved his desk into L's office anyway by the looks of it. I wonder if it was his doing or L's.

"Oh! You're talking to me now, are you?" L says to him in surprise and throws a ball of elastic bands towards him. Mihael dodges it with practiced skill and it disappears behind a pot plant.

"No way, but when someone mentions fucking nuns I have to find out more."

"You deranged Catholic. I should just arrange a day trip to the cinema for everyone I know. I can't bear this ignorance." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, holding a few notes towards Mihael. "Mihael, I'm going to give you a gift. Have your lunch now. Take this and go to a shop and buy _Vertigo_ on DVD. Watch it tonight. You might be disappointed with the lack of fucking nuns but I want a five thousand word essay about it in the morning."

"Eh?"

"Yep. Bye," L says. Mihael never did need to be told twice. He grabs his coat, walks past me and leaves. I shut the door behind him.

"Do you really expect him to write an essay?" I ask. He looks up at me with a blank, even bored expression.

"No, but he'll cut and paste someone's thesis and say that it's his. He can be quite industrious and shameless in his procrastination. Scheming, even. So, how _can_ I help you, Prime Minister? After such a long time, seeing you four times in three weeks is a wonder to behold."

"I wanted to see how you are and thought that we should catch up without an audience. I wanted to see how you're doing. That you're adjusting and coping with the workload."

"Ha. Hilarious. Well, I seem to be managing due to this handy flow chart that Mihael drew up, though I can't make sense of it and he's won't explain it to me. Do you want a breakdown of the work I've done today?"

"No," I say, sitting opposite him.

"I'm pleased to hear that. I'd find that very insulting."

"Your friend didn't seem impressed."

"I'm sorry?"

"With the film."

"Yeaaah, I'm not sure if he got it really," he says, smiling stupidly. "But as it turns out, I seem to be able to suffer his particular ignorance. Why do you care?"

"No reason."

"Ok. Do you want a coffee? I bought one of those things." He points towards a coffee maker which is surrounded by torn apart chocolate dust sachets and dirty mugs.

"No, thanks." I will choose my health over coffee in an unhygienic cup. This has no effect on him and he swigs from a grubby-looking mug of his own. "How's your cold?"

"It's abandoned me with only a lingering memory of tiredness. How are you today?"

"Fine."

"No headache now?"

"No. If I don't act in the way Kiyomi thinks I should, she says that I have a headache or some other medical problem, so I suppose that I must have had a headache. I haven't been told that I have one today."

"That's quite clever of her. Illness excuses all rudeness. And how is Kiyomi? She looked and sounded full of peppy good humour and bile."

"She's fine too."

"Right. Isn't this pleasant. I think we've caught up now. Is there anything else you want to discuss? It's just that I'm quite busy and I want to get home by seven."

"No. That's all. Alright. See you then," I say, stand and start walking towards the door. With my hand on the door handle, I stop. What am I doing? It's almost as if I forgot what I came here for. "It's just... the CIA? Could you have found anyone less appropriate?"

"Oh, there it is," he smiles and leans back in his chair. "This is about Stephen? I had no idea, really. He's in the CIA? How did he get that one past me? Am I cursed to be fooled by people my whole life? Sweet baby _Jesus_!"

"It's not funny," I tell him. I'd rather do this standing, actually. He's in a mood which requires me to look down on him. He's already at a disadvantage because he's not wearing a jacket or a tie.

"I'm very sorry but, yes, he is in the CIA. It's the sole reason that I picked him up and moved him into my house, just to annoy you. Of course it is. Does that bother you?"

"No. I don't care who you fuck around with."

"Because it's none of your business," he nods. "That's very decent of you. Yes."

"Just as long as you don't tell him anything restricted. Which is everything"

"We don't talk about work, it makes a nice change. So, is that it? I swear not to talk to him about anything."

"How serious is it exactly?" I ask like a concerned friend. I suppose that I am a concerned friend. I'm concerned anyway. He scratches the bridge of his nose with his thumb.

"Erm..."

"I mean, how long have you been seeing him? He's in your house?" He's in his house. Why would he move a stranger into his house? He never asked me to move in. Not that I would have, but he could have asked.

"Light, you're making this difficult."

"Am I? Good. I hope that you find this as difficult and painful as possible."

"Why are you so worried? I haven't brought you this far to dump you in it in the throes of passion with the first man who comes my way."

This hits me on so many levels that I want to pick up his coffee and throw it in his face, but then my brain tells me that I should retain the calm, unaffected reserve which gets me through life.

"I'm not worried, but it's my responsibility to make sure that you're not acting inappropriately considering the sensitivity of our situation."

"Ha!" he snorts. "Sorry."

"No, carry on."

"I don't require your permission to say what I'm thinking. I just find you hypocritical and patronising, but that's hardly new."

"L, you work for my government and know it inside out. He's in the CIA investigating the death of the US Secretary of State who died in this country and you don't think that that's inappropriate?"

"No, he's a professional and I never kiss and tell. Hardly ever. We don't discuss anything vaguely classified. Scout's honour. Is this really about him being in the CIA or is it just because he exists?"

"I don't like him, no," I admit, and sit down again. I'd hope that this admission alone might make him reevaluate what he's doing and look at his idiot in a very bright light which highlights all the blemishes and failings and unadulterated blandness, but he probably won't.

"I'm sure that'll really upset him. Have the police spoken to you about this whole Wedy business?" he asks.

"No, why would they want to speak to me? I wasn't even in Tokyo when it happened."

"You know that doesn't mean anything. You could have been in another country altogether."

I can't stop myself from laughing at this new turn and the fact that he looks so serious about it.

"What? Do you think I had her killed?"

"It happens in politics," he shrugs. Oh, yes. It does, doesn't it? We all know that it does but it's never spoken about. One day he's going to tell me all about it. But not now.

"What exactly has this CIA shit told you?"

"Don't call him that. I only know one side of the story, I just want to know yours." He leans towards me with a kind expression of understanding and unfailing loyalty. Again, I want to throw his coffee in his face and rip his shirt to pieces. "Light, you can tell me. It'll go no further."

"I can't believe that you think that I had her killed. I can't believe it. What the hell does he think?"

"Not him. The CIA. They're suspicious, obviously, since they sent agents over to investigate and they're very interested in all these deaths in the Cabinet over the last few years. I'm giving you a heads up here. If you have anything to hide, you have to tell me or I can't help you."

"I don't need your help. I have nothing to hide. I was happy to let Foreign, Business and Transport bash it out with her. Our bid is by far the leading contender for the rail plan there. I'm confident in that. I saw her once and that was only to be fucking polite."

"You disagreed about the rail plan. Her deputy supported you and she supported the Chinese bid. And now she's dead."

"He supported me? I didn't know," I say. He seems to find it very amusing for a few seconds, looks away to laugh and then turns back to me again with a face like fury. And all the time I just sit there with the same blank expression, I'm sure.

"You would have been all over this. It's a potentially multi-billion investment in the economy. Don't tell me that you didn't know that she was leaning towards building links with China."

"How would I know that?"

"The deputy said that he spoke to you about it."

"Yes, for like, five minutes, and he was eating wasabi peas at the time. It doesn't matter anyway. If we weren't going to win the bid, it's no reason to kill someone. It's really nice to know that you think that I would do something so petty."

"That sort of money wouldn't be a petty reason. Did he tell you that she was supporting an investment in China?"

"Are we in court, L? No. Or rather, I do not recall."

"Light," he sighs tiredly. I'm sorry that I didn't think to bring some cigarettes with me, because I'd really like something to occupy myself with right now. I feel just like I'm back in that boardroom during the inquiry with him; his side parting and slick hair for the occasion, talking down to me and calling me an idiot in front of the commissioners. I don't mind. I can put up with a lot of shit from people if I have to, but it all goes in the little book in my head. I remember it.

"I had nothing to do with it," I tell him. "I fed her, I went to Nagano the next day and she died the day after that. I thought that you said she died of deep vein thrombosis."

"They're saying that because she'd recently taken a long haul flight and they want to shut the press up. There's no official cause of death."

"Well, there you go. People sometimes just drop down dead. Is it my fault that she decided to do that in my country?"

"They suspect poisoning. Maybe even radiation poisoning, and I don't need to tell you the effect that would have on the travel industry if it got out. They're doing shit loads of tests right now, so if you have anything to say you better tell me so I can -"

"What?"

"We could blame it on China. I'll find someone to blame. We could infer that they felt threatened by the strength of our bid so they sent some crackpot over."

"There's no reason to blame anyone. As far as I know, she just died. No need to panic and start pointing the finger, especially since the first person you think could have killed her was me. Nice, L. Really nice."

"You need to make a statement to Stephen and clear this up," he says with some lording tone of finality as he looks over his desk again. Like I want to speak to his precious Stephen about anything.

"They haven't approached me so why should I volunteer a statement? That would look guilty as anything and I have nothing to be guilty about."

"They're worried that they'll offend you if they ask."

"They're right," I smile. "I would be fucking offended. The bid would be withdrawn."

"Don't be stupid. You'll probably win the bid now that the deputy's taking over anyway, but if you don't make a statement and be as helpful as possible then there's always going to be a cloud over this where you're concerned."

"Let them ask me when they find proof."

"They have no proof; they have suspicions, and that's just as damaging in the longterm. Will they find proof?"

"Oh my God!" I laugh, falling back in my chair, but it makes no difference to him.

"Just tell me," he says.

"Are you saying that if I _had_ had her killed, you'd help cover it up?"

"As I say, it happens in politics."

"When does it happen, L?"

"It just does."

"Did it happen when you were working for The Lady?"

"This isn't about The Lady, this is about you and _your_ government."

"Ok. I had nothing to do with it. I'm sorry if that disappoints you. Tell your boyfriend. And tell him that if the CIA come knocking on my door, I'll show them how petty I can be."

"He's not the enemy. The CIA don't want to believe that you're responsible. If you make some effort then they'll be more than happy to put it down to deep vein thrombosis or whatever else they think is less likely to cause hysterics and conspiracy theories. Stephen doesn't know you, therefore he'll believe you."

"I don't give a shit what he believes. But you don't believe me? Welcome the fuck back, L. I missed being accused of murder while you were away."

"Honestly, Light, I don't care if you did or you didn't. I'm well over my hope that you could be a good Prime Minister, but my job is to make sure that you stay Prime Minister, and that's the only reason I'm telling you this. I have two mortgages to pay."

"Yeah, that's why you're back. Keep telling yourself that," I say. I cross my arms and he points his finger at me while his eyes burn like smouldering charcoal.

"You were the one who sent me a reminder of my contract. I've never had a reissue in a sympathy card before. You couldn't even sign it yourself; you got one of your big-haired typing girls to do it. Thank you very much."

"Do I have to remind you that I'm really fucking busy? Do you know how many stupid people I have to wrangle here? I don't have time to compose little sonnets to you."

"_I'm_ busy but I still would find thirty seconds to write and sign a sympathy card. Write it yourself or don't bother sending one."

"Like I have time or can risk writing you letters. I have to change my phone every few days in case the press hack it. I keep your job open for you and people talked, L. They thought it was favouritism because it was. I knew that would happen and that it was like pissing off the Pope, but I did it, and I get nothing. You swan back in and don't even say thank you. You just shack up with the first security breach you can find."

"Security breach?" he repeats after me in an overwrought, hurt way. He must have lost some braincells while he was away.

"Oh, please. You know he's only with you to get to me. It's obvious."

"I didn't know that you've added paranoia to your list of personality traits. He has never asked about you."

"He must have, otherwise you wouldn't know about all this CIA bollocks with the Secretary."

"All he said to me was the reason he was here and the deep vein thrombosis theory. He didn't sound convinced but he never mentioned a suspected link with you. I only found out more because he left his laptop at my house. I guessed his password."

"So he's stupid then."

"No, just trusting. He was wrong to trust me, but he is not stupid. You confuse niceness with stupidity, and it's not always the case. He's rereading all of _In Search of Lost Time_. In French. Can you read French? No. And who the hell has read it willingly in any language? He has annotations in the margins for Christ's sake."

"That's really not a strong argument for his intelligence."

"You bought books if you thought they'd look nice on your shelves. Only if the spines complimented the décor, you vacuous twat," he says with a raised voice. He knocks a pen off the desk with his elbow, picks it up off the floor and tosses it back on the papers with a violence that I wish he'd take out on me instead. I feel my lips pout at the implication that I'm both vain and uncultured.

"I read."

"The only time I saw you read a book it was about the exchange rate."

"I just don't read in company because it's rude."

"You should be rude sometimes then. You might learn something about humanity."

"Get bent."

"I am bent. _You_ get bent. You're in my office."

"You're in my building."

"You moved my office here!" he shouts. He's factually right, I suppose.

"Let's calm down for a minute. I'll say one thing and then I'll go. Yes, he's a security breach, and I don't know what you're trying to do but it looks to me like you're deliberately trying to antagonise me. I want him gone. Send him on his way and we'll meet tomorrow for whatever." I stand to start making my exit. That's all I came to tell him.

"I'm going to take that as a rare instance of flattery, clumsy as it was, and I'm not going to go with my instinct, which is to beat you around the head with my computer. It's nothing to do with you. I'm not 'sending him on his way' and I'm not interested in 'whatever' with you, whenever," he says, still in his chair. He's a brave man.

"We have an arrangement," I remind him slowly.

"I don't believe that it's in my contract that you have a say over who I can see and can't see and that I have to knock cocks with you on Tuesdays. We're fine. We're just business now, so try to understand that part." I must look confused because he sighs and pulls out a small bottle of vodka from of his desk drawer, pouring a shot into his cold coffee to make it drinkable. "Look, I know this is strange coming from me, but I'm in a relationship now, out in the open and everything, and he's not the sort of person who would appreciate me sleeping around like it's Woodstock in sixty-nine. I said that I wouldn't leave you. I'll help you, but only in a business sense. We can be friends, can't we?"

"We've never been friends."

"Well, let's try. If it doesn't work out then I'll leave and we'll just write it off."

Simple as that. Out of sight, out of mind. He's probably right but I'd rather find an alternative to that. He's very good at PR, amongst other things, and it's boring when he's not here. I sigh and massage the back of my neck briefly because I think I genuinely am getting a headache.

"Ok, what do I have to do?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"You obviously want me to do or say something to make you get rid of him. Tell me what you want, but make it reasonable because I'm limited in what I can do on a personal level now, you know that."

"Light, you're consistently misunderstanding me. I don't want anything from you."

"This is an ultimatum, isn't it? You're angry with me because I didn't call you or sign a fucking sympathy card, so you're making me choose."

"No!" he says, scrunching up his face like the idea had never crossed his mind. "I'm not angry at all. I could have called you but I didn't, and I didn't expect you to call."

"You _told_ me not to call. You said that you wouldn't speak to me."

"I did tell you that and I meant it. I'm not playing a coquette here. I'm not sure what you think I'm doing."

"I can't leave Kiyomi," I say, pinching my eyes shut because I really can't. Part of me wants to, part of me doesn't. But I can't anyway.

"I'm not asking you to! I don't know how long it'll last between you two but I'm interested to find out."

"Then what?"

"Nothing at all, really. I'm with Stephen now and my personal life is nothing to do with you, not that it ever was. I'm sorry, but it's much easier this way."

"You're right. I don't understand. You'll have to spell it out for me because I don't do inverted speech."

"You're not good for me. Stephen is," he explains softly, making it sound like that's the end of the conversation. He fishes some papers out from the pile on his desk. "We should discuss work while you're here to stop this from being a complete waste of time. Since I've been back and you're completely out of the loop now, I've hired some moles in a few departments who are keeping track of rumours. I've got moles on the moles, in fact. Here's the list. Memorise it and shred it," he says, pushing the paper across the desk towards me.

"How am I not good for you? You never said that before."

"I did, a few times."

"You didn't mean it. You were just being lazy."

"I wasn't. Now, there aren't many rumours, it seems. Everyone is quite happy and keeping their heads down. Well done, you. But it is expected that you're going to try and bring Mikami back, so I'd suggest that you distance yourself socially from now on."

"I am bringing Mikami back."

"You shouldn't. It would be very, very unpopular in the House and with the public, bordering on being an intensely unfunny comedy sketch which consists of people falling over," he says, drinking his spiked coffee and refusing to look at me.

"Jeevas is on sick leave and will be out completely soon. With the money saved there, I'm going to hire Mikami as my aide and it's no one else's fucking business. Answer my question."

"For the record that we're not keeping, I want it known that I don't approve of Mikami being anywhere near a government building. It would look terrible. Essentially you'd be hand-feeding the press with reasons for the public to hate you. I can see the cartoon strip now."

"Sort it out then."

"And how do you suggest that I do that? Oh, what am I thinking? I have the power to bend the universe to my will. Pass me my sword and shield and I will rescue the fair Mikami."

"Don't pretend to be incompetent," I tell him, and sit down again. The shine on my shoes distracts me for a moment.

"Was that a kind of compliment in there?" he asks. "Wow. I need to top-up my drink for that."

"Just make something up. Something heartbreaking but positive and inspiring. Reformed ex-MP who once had potential, attempts to rebuild his life and save others from what he's been through. 'Drugs are bad' and all that shit. I thought that an article for a weekend print might help, so write him one. I'll bring him in the office next week and we'll discuss it. He needs to know what's expected of him anyway. But you'll have to watch him like a hawk. Any sign of him reverting to his old ways and he's gone, so make sure that he doesn't. Consider him your new pet project."

"Ok..." he sounds out slowly with raised eyebrow for effect.

"Why am I not good for you?"

"God," he sighs, letting his head drop back.

"Because I think that I'm excellent for you. It's not like you've suffered from being with me."

"I have a fractured rib and several old bruises which would argue with that," he replies, staring up at the ceiling.

"Listen, you chased me, you got me. I'm not some bang you can wave off with a 'fun while it lasted'."

"So I'm stuck with you for life? Christ. If I'd known that, I never would have bothered."

"Yes you would," I say.

"Hmmm... well. I've nothing more to say. If you don't mind, I have to write an article on behalf of a fuckwit who's now a repentant, reliable governmental employee."

"No, please say what you're thinking. I'm here to listen to my staff and their concerns; it's part of my _fantastic_ job now. Why are you calling this off? All this 'you're not good for me' shit is... well. Shit."

"It's been off for a long time. You've just been reminded that I'm alive and that's the only reason that we're having this lovely, useless conversation."

"I hadn't forgotten about you if that's what you think."

"Well, that's nice, but it wouldn't matter if you had. Alright, cards on the table time. I'm tired, Light. And I want something that you can't give me because it involves stability and cups of tea. But I'm very understanding of you. Time's a healer. Your situation is very difficult, but you chose to make it difficult, so my sympathy doesn't stretch all that far. Honestly, I just don't have the energy for you now. I just want a normal life with someone who doesn't care about politics or anything else more than they care for me."

"Oh fuck off, L. Fuck right off. Go and have a angsty sob in the shower but don't give me that. No one is that brainless."

"I must be brainless then, because that's how I felt about you once," he says. It stuns me for a moment, because I wasn't expecting him to say something that very much referred to the past like it was just a terrible mistake he'd made. I knew that it was true. I put up with his sanctimonious attitude for a year until he stopped. To have someone truly on your side, they have to put you before themselves. That's what I waited for and that's what happened. I won. End of.

"And Stephen is brainless," I nod slowly at the inanity and how boring L's reasoning is. Basically, he's settling like everyone else does. It won't last long. He feels like he has to tell me all his terrible reasons for settling anyway.

"In that respect, yes. If I phone him, he makes time for me. He sits around and plays solitaire while I sulk. He doesn't ask me why I'm sulking and he doesn't moan about it when I'm finished. He's kind to me all the time and very patient, because God knows that I'm not easy to live with. He knows that I work hard in two jobs and he worries about it, but he doesn't say anything about that either. I think that's called respect. I just _know_ that he worries about me and thinks that my work ethic is fucking insane and that I don't sleep or eat enough. He doesn't tell me but he doesn't hide it. You always did, if you ever cared at all, which I doubt. You're someone who doesn't give anything, so I was just throwing myself into a pit for years, because that's what you are. You take and take and I was killing myself for no reason. If I was younger then maybe I wouldn't mind, but as it is -"

"I'm not worth it. I'm not worth the slight effort and allowances when all you want are nice words and a fussing man in an apron." I could have done without all that and it must show because he starts looking at me like a sympathetic doctor.

"Light, you're worth it, but it's not a slight effort, believe me. Maybe you're looking for someone else; some robot who doesn't need assurance sometimes. Kiyomi would fit that bill. I can't do all that anymore, so don't be offended. Sometimes in life you have to admit defeat and move on. That's what I've done, and that's what you're doing. I thought that you'd be all for this and you'd understand."

"I understand. You can go from something to nothing. You loved me, and now you don't. You're telling me that that's all my fault because I don't constantly bite my nails over your eating habits. I work just as hard as you. Harder. Every second I'm conscious is spent working or thinking about what I have to do."

"I'm sure that Kiyomi will so pleased to hear you talk like that. And that's all true, I know, but you're younger than me. I'm not ancient but I just can't live like that anymore. I'm burned out, Light. I've been doing too much for too long and if I want an easy life then I think I'm allowed one."

"That's reprehensible. I really didn't think that was the kind of person that you are. You disappoint me."

"Hold on," he says with a laugh, putting his hand up to stop me, "I'm dealing with this like an adult. Kind of. This is as mature as I get and I'm handling it pretty well. You're a man who's married a woman you can't possibly feel anything for. You've made a joke out of her and yourself, and what I've done is reprehensible?"

"Feelings don't change. I'm constant like that. Other people aren't. I just didn't think that you were like them."

"I'm sorry that I aspire to normality," he breathes out. "I don't do sharing, and I'm getting to the stage now where going home to dinner and an early night sounds very appealing and, you know, normal. None of which I'd get with you. Your brain is constantly buzzing with things I'm excluded from and I don't understand you. I don't like what I see in you sometimes. People are expendable to you, which wouldn't bother me, except that I'm expendable to you too. Maybe this _is_ a survival instinct. If I stayed with you, you'd fuck me over eventually."

"I wouldn't."

"Ok then, Light. It looks like I'm letting you down. I'm sorry."

"No, you're lying. I think that whatever you feel for people doesn't change, no matter what they do. I hate Jeevas and I will always hate Jeevas. I trust Kiyomi and I will always trust her. I don't trust Mikami and I will never trust him. And I love you, and I will always love you."

"That's a song, you know that, right? You've just plagiarised a Whitney Houston... wait, no, a Dolly Parton song to try and get my pants off."

"Oh shut up. Can't you take anything seriously?"

"Not from you, no. You and declarations of undying love don't go together very well. It's like strawberries in balsamic vinegar; it's just wrong, no matter how many people tell you that it works. You're lucky I'm not laughing you out of the room."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A little, I admit," he smiles and finishes his coffee. "It's the sadist in me. The same one who dislocated your shoulder."

"Are you happy now? Have you just waited to humiliate me? Because I've never done that to you."

"You believe it, don't you?" He stares at me and finds the answer before looking away. Then he speaks quietly, like a whisper, while his eyes search the floor. "God. You know what's sad about this? If you'd said it a year ago. Two years ago."

"I did tell you. Why is it sad?"

"Because it wouldn't have made any difference."

"That makes no sense."

"I'm still trying to remember when you said anything nice to me. Which time are you talking about?"

"If you don't remember than I suppose it didn't matter."

"Oh! I know! You mean when you signed your statement for candidacy? Give me a break!"

"Yes, then. I just can't do anything right with you, can I?"

"Nope, you can't. We're not even on different pages, we're in different books. Well, I'm sorry if I missed such a soaring promise of love and devotion, but it doesn't matter. You chose what you have, you didn't choose me. You didn't mean it then and you don't mean it now. It's more irritating than anything else. I don't want to hear that from anyone but Stephen."

"Ha. Wait, a minute, I think I'm going to be sick. This is a bit... You really don't have to try so hard, you know. I'm here, aren't I? All this is unnecessary and immature and I don't really have time for it either, entertaining as it is."

"If you think that Stephen is just some way of making you jealous then you need some very strong medication, my friend. I'm explaining things in the hope that you'll understand and stop trying to interfere with my life."

"You've only known him for five minutes!"

"A couple of months, five minutes, whatever."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're a cuntbox," he says with a sarcastic smile. He checks his watch and starts packing things into his briefcase. It's not even half twelve; where does he think he's going? Out for a Caesar salad? "I was only an addition you didn't mind having around. I have thought about this, Light. Too much considering that I'm a very busy man. My brain should be ninety-nine percent law and dodgy dealings. I feel like sending you an invoice for all the time I've spent on you."

"I don't believe all this Stephen stuff. It just doesn't happen. I might understand and feel _slightly_ threatened if he was something special but he's so very un-special that I'm sorry for you."

"I don't want to hurt the baby seal-like feelings that you don't have, but do you know what he said to me two weeks ago? 'I don't think that I can live without you, L.' That's what he said. And the first thing I thought of wasn't: 'Oh, how nice. Never had that before from someone who didn't want anything from me.' It was: 'Christ. I knew Light for all those years and he never said anything remotely like that.' You never once gave me any indication that I was essential to you in any way, or that you might miss me if I wasn't there. And it just made me realise that I chased you and it was a waste of time for me. Because all I ever wanted from you was to make me feel like I was needed and important. That's all. I didn't want 'I love you', which you seem to think is the key to everything, I only wanted something that I'd believe. And you know? I think it's my problem. Validation from you would validate me as a person, because you don't need anyone. Basically, I was searching for El Dorado, and there is no El Dorado. Now there's someone who does need me and makes it bloody obvious, and I should make the most of that. I think that I should stop chasing things that don't exist. Excuse me, but I have some self-help books to buy." He stands up and, fuck me, look at him in those trousers. No, don't look at his trousers. I stand up too and block his path to the door.

"If he's said that to you and you fell for it, then great, but you're an idiot if you do and I hate idiots. People don't mean the things they say."

"You don't. Other people aren't as emotionally stunted," he replies.

"Right, L, a savvy piece of advice for you - people lie. You should know that; you're a lawyer."

"A barrister."

"Whatever. You're socially retarded, needy and moody. It actually causes you pain to act in a normal way. Like he'd fall head over heels for you in eight weeks. I didn't even like you in that time."

"Six, actually, and why shouldn't he? To be honest with you, I think he was a gonner within a couple of days, the poor thing."

"Ha! Yeah, right."

"Hey, I'm a great guy and I know it, so it's pointless trying to make me feel inadequate. I've turned two apparently straight men just for the challenge and it really wasn't much of a challenge in either case. I have money and really amazing hair. I'm intelligent and sensitive and fairly considerate. I have a great career, I speak three languages fluently, four more better than most, including Latin and, let's face it, I'm really, really attractive. Look at my jawline. It's better than yours. It's the dogs bollocks, and I just wake up like this. I have a good sense of humour and I like long walks on the beach and I do sex in a eighty-six different positions. You really fucked up. I told you not to. You fucked up and now _all _this is nothing to do with you. You're not Light to me anymore. You're the Prime Minister and I work for you, but that's it. Goodbye, Light."

And yes, all that should be on his résumé. At some point while he's been abroad, he's discovered that he has the ability to walk around people instead of expecting them to get out of his way, and now he's out of the office and striding through the department. Not wanting to run after him, I alternate between walking and jogging for a few beats to catch up ground without looking too pathetic. I've nearly caught up with him, now that he's waiting for the elevator, when some goon walks out of a conference room and his face lights up with surprise when he sees me.

"Prime Minister! Can I -"

"No, you can't. L!"

"Don't follow me," he says, staring straight ahead at his reflection in the elevator doors, "I'm going to work from home for the afternoon. Dock my wages if you really want to."

Yes, yes, blah, blah. I grab his arm and drag him towards one of the conference rooms. It's lunchtime. Everyone hates a conference which overruns and spills into lunchtime, so of course it's empty, although someone has left the projector running. Even if there was someone here, they wouldn't be here for long.

"Get in here and shut up," I tell him, throwing him into the room.

"I'm a bit fed up of you thinking that you can push me into every empty room going," he says as I close the door behind us.

"We're not done here."

"There's nothing else to say. I thought that I'd made that clear. You can't change my mind."

"Oh yes I can. I did not fuck up. You pissed off and all I did was carry on because what else did you expect me to do? I couldn't really tell everyone that I had to take a few weeks off and postpone my wedding while I play a lute outside your window on the other side of the world. Will you look at me? Don't settle for second best. I won't accept it and I won't let you go, so you better get used to that. All he is is another project for you, like I was. Someone you can fill your time with so you're not so fucking lonely."

"Not like you, Light. No one like you. I actually like him as a person."

"Well, I think that he's some easy flamer you picked up because you like the attention of having me chase down hallways after you."

"Ha. Only you would think that your attention was flattering."

"L, nothing has to change between us."

"Everything has. Are you saying that... what? We'll carry on as we were? How do you think your wife would feel about that? Maybe we could all move in together. Is she that understanding? You _betrayed_ me," he hisses finally, his lips curling around the words.

"I didn't betray you, you know how this works. She doesn't have to know."

"I know how it's supposed to work. I said that I'd protect you. You could have changed so many things which are wrong in this world, but instead you just conform. Where's your courage? Did you lose it when you wrote your five year plan?"

"What exactly do you want? Do you just want me to kiss your shoes or something? I was honest with you from the start and I've never put a foot wrong. Now you're leaving me for that fucking idiot?"

"Yes, for that fucking idiot who loves me, which is more than I could say for you. You're just a fucking idiot. I'm not saying that it's the love affair of the century, but then I suspect that yours isn't either. And if you try to hurt him just to get back at me, you vengeful cunt, I will out you. I don't even care anymore. We both know that you don't love that woman; she's just a convenient brood mare for you so you can look like a proper Prime Minister."

"I get it, ok? You're upset about Kiyomi. There's not much I can do about it. You'll just have to get used to it. I said the words, I wear the ring and it means nothing to me."

"Romance is not dead then. I _was_ upset, yes, and that's putting it very mildly. You married Kiyomi, well done. Do you know how insulting that was? As if our situation wasn't complicated enough, throw in a wife, Light, yeah! What the hell were you thinking? I thought, no, he won't do it. No one does this sham marriage business anymore unless it's for immigration purposes. Who could live a lie in the spotlight for years? But then I was watching you doing something really ordinary once, I think you were ordering a coffee, and I was thinking how you're so perfect that it's kind of obscene. Then I realised that you were actually going to do it. You could do it if anyone could. I've never felt so stupid in my whole life and I hated you for that. I still do. You were already Prime Minister; you didn't need her. You could have broken it off, but no, not you. Nothing so easy and sensible. You're like all the others. Now, if it's alright, I think we're properly done here if we want to salvage some hope of having a professional relationship."

"You're going to stay right there," I tell him, and push him back against the wall. At that moment, a weak, scared little voice calls from behind the door.

"Hello -"

"Fuck off!"

"Why don't you open the door, Light?" L asks after my outburst. "Why don't we just broadcast this all over the Kantei? It's kind of stuffy in here anyway."

"I want you to be quiet. You're underestimating me. You don't know how far I'll go."

"No, I knew that you were an evil bastard the first time I saw you. You know that thing you do with your face when you're full of diabolical something or other? It doesn't work. You just look constipated."

"I don't do anything with my face! My face is fine."

"And don't you know it. Listen to me, I'll stay to help you. I just won't do what you want me to do because, oooh look! I have a brain of my own and it works independently from yours. Fancy that. Now, get out of my way." He turns his head away from me and he doesn't want to go, I can tell. He could never hide these things from me. I'm sure we're breathing the same; the same air, the same pounding thud of hearts racing. His voice is breathless but he's trying so hard to not want the same things that I do. "Get off me or I'll make you."

"You're not leaving me."

"I think I am. Have to say, you could have handled this better."

"You're right. I could have," I say and lean towards him in a way that's never failed me, never, but he pushes me away like he was anticipating it.

"Pfffffff. Don't try that with me. How stupid do you think I am? Will you let me go, please? Or do you have some other trick up your sleeve that you'd like to entertain me with?"

"I..." But I don't have anything. I've tried everything I can think of. Maybe he needs to be broken down over time, but I don't really have any time to spare; I'm always supposed to be somewhere. I close my eyes for a moment. "No. No, I'm out of tricks."

He looks sad then. Disappointed, even, and for my sake. After a few drawn out moments of that, I step back because I don't want his pity. He can go now if he wants to.

"Come here," he whispers, and pulls me back to him with his arms around my back and his chin resting on my shoulder like he used to. "You know I love you like you're a part of me. It's there now and it's for keeps. But feelings do change. Don't make me hate you. Light, I think that I should leave. It was a bad idea me coming back here. We should sever my contract."

"No," I say and claw at his jacket over his shoulders.

"I know it didn't work out with Halle but we'll find someone who won't chase Mihael around the office. There must be _someone_."

"I do need you. More than he does. How can he need you after two months? Was his life so empty before?"

"No, he just likes me a lot. You need me for work."

"Not for work."

"What do you need me for? A bounce? Frankly, we can both get that elsewhere and with no repercussions."

"I didn't mean that."

"What then? If we have any chance of being friends or working together, you have to promise me that this is the end of it now. Don't do it again. I can't fight you forever."

"I know you can't. I'm counting on it."

"No. I helped you and I liked you without all your show, but don't love me for it. I used you. It wasn't your fault, it's just what I do. I'm not a good person, Light. And I make you worse. You could be something special. You could also be the worst thing the world has ever seen. You're neither at the moment, but I'd rather see you be something good than something terrible."

"L, it's not over."

"Then we'll have to talk about ending my contract. Not now though, I'm spent. I think that it's a good idea. Think about it."

* * *

He was right; I am shit at chasing. I've realised that the important factor in the art of chasing is that no one should notice you when you do it. And everyone notices me. I cannot move freely. People care about what I'm doing and they watch me. After thinking about and drawing up, admittedly, desperate courses of action, because I like to have back-up plans, I decide to start with the elevator. Yes, I always take the stairs and this elevator isn't even near my office, but my lunchtime is my free time; it's in my contract, and I can spend it in an elevator if I want to.

It feels like at each floor, another pleb walks in to assault me.

"Prime Minister, have you had a moment to read my bill proposal yet?" he asks. Brown shoes with a black suit. Urgh.

"Yes. I wanted to speak to you about that."

"Oh!"

"It's lacking in research and expert opinions, which is the only thing that lets it down."

"Oh."

"Leave it with me, I'll pass it onto my team and find some experts who are more appropriate and enthusiastic. That's what will sell it in the House. You need a bigger name behind it."

"I did try, Prime Minister," he slobbers, and I'm tired of looking at him now.

"I'm sure you did but there's only so much that you can do on your own."

"Well, thank you for your consideration! You support it then?"

"I don't really have enough spare time to indulge you if I didn't approve, at least in theory."

The doors open and L's standing there. He sees me, hesitates, but gets in anyway. Honestly, I think I might have gone up and down in this thing until he turned up, it's just lucky that I timed it right. He has lunch at half twelve and he always takes this elevator. I don't know where he goes after that – I'll have to find out - but he comes back at half one. I haven't seen or spoken to him in four days, mostly to let words sink into him. He's like me; he reviews things afterwards and tears them apart until there's nothing left but bones and answers. I hope that four days is enough. He stands opposite the open door until it closes and I don't look at him, I just take a short pause before I continue talking to this odd little man.

"It depends on whether you can cut the budget for it, which should be easy enough to do since several areas you propose to change aren't necessary. Too much change at once is never a good idea."

"Which areas do you think are unnecessary?"

"It's not really something we can discuss here, is it? Call my office and schedule in a meeting tomorrow morning. I have twenty minutes free from nine thirty. I'll email it to the Treasury and get a report back on budgeting advice tomorrow."

"Great! Than -"

"But you need a clear case and argument, and you're not very good at speaking, if you don't mind me saying so. Before you can present it, you need to work on that, otherwise it'll get nowhere no matter how good a bill it is."

"Right. Erm..."

"If you ever feel like you're struggling, come and talk to me, Akuta. Is this your floor?"

"Yeah. Thanks again, Prime Minister."

He walks out and I lean against the wall to look at L now we're trapped together. He speaks in a low, aggravated voice while he gazes into nothingness.

"You do realise that his bill is the biggest steaming turd. He ran it past me for legalities," he says.

"Yes, it is, but I need him out and with a demonstrated reason. Underneath that turd is the foundation of a genuinely worthwhile proposal which he found purely by accident and doesn't realise it. But he wouldn't sell it with the way he handles public speaking, since shaking, sweating and stuttering are not endearing qualities at this level. After this falls flat, I'll move him into Agriculture and recycle the bill in a few months."

"Don't tell me, the areas you want to cut from the bill are the aspects you think are worthwhile?"

"One thing I despise with the voting system is that we end up with talentless fools from one horse towns, and the horse happens to be their mother, which is why they get voted in. I'm left trying to find somewhere to put them where they can't do any harm."

"Shocking. I do so hate a democracy."

"Dior?" I ask after a pause, during which I strip him completely naked in my mind. His suit is exquisite.

"What?"

"Your suit."

"Oh. Yes."

"Looks like you did inherit my appreciation for quality tailoring after all."

"Not really. I found myself there and it was in the sale. I was practically harassed into it by a sales assistant. I only bought it to shut him up."

An almost completely round woman, not helped by peplums, walks into the lift on the next floor we stop at.

"Next floor please," she says cheerfully to L, expecting him to be in charge of that sort of thing. "Can't handle the stairs right now with my ankles. Prime Minister, how are you today?"

"Very well, thank you. And you?"

"My youngest has a bad cold."

"I'm sorry to hear that. These things are going around at the moment."

"Absolutely. Awful. Yes," she bleats. And that's the end of that. We stand in silence then until the doors open again. "Oh, my floor already! Have a good day!"

The doors close.

"It's been tailored though," I say to L. Unless he's suddenly gone blind, he's talking to the door and not looking at me at all.

"What has?" he asks.

"Your suit."

"Actually, it hasn't. It's - oh, the horror - off the peg. I suppose you don't like it anymore now that you know that."

"My opinion still stands. It's an excellent suit. You could even say fuckable if you wanted to be crude. Which I do."

"Should I leave you and the suit alone for a while? You seem to be hitting it off."

"No, you can stay. I meant you in the suit."

"Fuckable, eh? Little old me? What a coincidence, someone else told me that in the middle of the night."

"Some random boy?"

"Might have been. Have you thought further about severing my contract? I have ten minutes free now if you want to. I doubt that it'll take that long."

"Can't say that I have thought about it. Have you put on weight?" I ask, and he lets out a short laugh.

"Well, that's not very polite. You need to work on your chat up lines, Prime Minister."

"You just don't look quite as thin as you used to. You look ... healthier. I'm not sure if I approve of it or not."

"I've taken up squash and have a random boy who's very handy in the kitchen. And elsewhere," he smiles suggestively at the door.

"It constantly amazes me what a slut you are."

"You're the one propositioning me in an elevator."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are."

"Your self-inflated ego might burst if you don't let out some of that hot air you're so full of. I could have anyone, why would I bother with you?"

"Because I'm not interested and it drives you mad that you're not getting your own way for once."

"Are you trying to make me jealous of your succession of one night stands? They're meaningless dances in the dark with strangers and we've all been there. And I've been _there," _I say, pointing briefly in his direction._ "_Quite often. And for four years nearly."

"Don't remind me. That as it may be, this particular one night stand seems to have some mileage. Three months and counting, _and_ in succession, unlike our four years, which was in fits and starts and benefitted from lengthy periods apart and moments of intense violence."

"Oh, that American. He's still around, is he?"

"Stephen. Italian American, actually. He's the best of both worlds and we never argue."

"How exhilarating that must be for you both. I wouldn't have thought that he was your sort at all."

"You mean because he's sane? Yes, I suppose he is different from my usual. No offence."

"Hah. I was thinking that he would be better described as boring and barren of personality."

"He's nice," he tells me like it's a warning that I'm stepping over a line.

"Same thing," I grin back. "Would you mind if I take a closer look at you and your suit? Say, in my office in one hour?"

"I would mind, yes. I think I'd rather throw myself into a vat of boiling oil. If my suit wants to meet with you then I'll give it the afternoon off and send it over. Who am I to stand in the way of true love? Don't hold out too much hope though. Between you and me, my suit and I are very close, and I don't think it likes you."

"Playing hard to get never works with me, L. I always get what I want."

"I'm not playing, so tough shit."

"It's just a friendly request. You really must let me investigate. I've never seen such well-tailored trousers in my life. They must be lined," I say, brazenly staring at the central creases on his thighs. "What's the thread count of this thing? Is it a super 130? Is it fully-canvassed or half-canvassed? Horse hair or camel?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't want a camel anywhere near my suit. Is this of governmental importance or have you just had too much caffeine?"

"I don't know, but it looks very important from where I'm standing."

"Stand somewhere else then."

My consistent smile parts my lips when I take a few long steps towards him until we're only inches apart. Well, I can't really see his suit anymore, which is what he wanted.

"Like, here?" I ask. His panic is practically another person between us, and he drops his briefcase, so this tactic must have been perfectly balanced and executed. I congratulate myself as I kneel down to pick it up to deliver the killing stroke.

"I'll get it," he says hurriedly.

"It's no problem," I say, smiling up at him in my most winning way. This is a tried and tested method, and he out of everyone was a complete sucker for it, always. I grab the handle of his case with one hand and hold onto his leg with the other. For support, obviously. When I stand again, I can almost see the gleam in my eye reflected in his face. While he's apparently unable to move, I lean forward and breathe in over his neck but I don't touch him until my face is so close to his that our noses barely glance and slide off each other. He sucks in air when I lick his cheek lightly with the tip of my tongue. He's dying inside. His poor eyes can't lie.

"You know, you really should be more careful," I tell him, and tilt my face slightly so my lips hovers over his in some worshipping adoration. He pants softly, swallows and his eyes grow heavy as he looks at me, but I won't do anything unless he gives me a sign.

An almost silent "Oh fuck" catches in his throat as he stares at me, and I drop his suitcase to the floor again. Hallelujah.

We launch at each other's mouths so aggressively that our teeth clash. His head hits the wall of the elevator, but I don't stop, I can't stop because all the rage I feel is in it. He's mine, no one else has a right to him but me. His mouth is hot as he kisses me back. I think he's angry too, but he's missed me. He makes a moan that sounds like a negative and he presses his hand against my shoulder to push me away, but I just drag his back away from the wall and slam him into it twice in quick succession. Just until the sound of injured, bending metal echoes in the shaft to drown out our own noises for a second and drowns him into submission.

I hold one of his hands against the wall by the wrist while my other hand feels for the hold button beside me. The little box we're in judders to a stop, and I think that we're just suspended here, hanging in mid-air by a wire while I suck his tongue and he sighs in my mouth. A voice speaks through the intercom asking if we're having problems. Oh, so many problems. I rasp out something about the button being stuck. Give us a few minutes, for fuck's sake, we're busy here. I don't say the last part. But while I speak, I see L's eyes thinly squinting and fluttering with lust in the shallow orbit which houses them, and his open mouth all plump and bruising already, so much that I have to attack it again. He makes a shocked noise and shudders and I think: 'I'm so sorry. No one's ever touched you like I do, ever. They were all too frightened of breaking you. You've been waiting for me your whole life.' Because God help them if they let him speak. You should never let him speak at a time like this. He's obedient when he's made to shut up, but only then. Now that his hand's in my hair, twisting it in his grip so it hurts as he clutches me closer. And now that he's culpable, I let his pinned hand go. He immediately grabs my arse with it, and I want to lift him onto my hips and feel his legs around me. There are so many things I want to do to him that I don't know where to start, but I can trust him now. I have him and we're pressed hard and smoothly grinding against each other like we're wedged in an even tinier space. I'm actually concerned for his trousers for a second, because I don't think even that kind of expert tailoring is supposed to be put through this, but I shut that thought the hell out of my head. I love him I need him I want him I love the noises we're making.

Then, suddenly, he makes a groan full of pain and before I know what's happening, he's thrown me back so I hit the wall opposite. All the wind's knocked out of me, not that there was much in me to start with, so I catch my breath as I eye him from where I am now. He falls back, his hand near the hold button. It feels like we're moving down with gravity, but seeing him breathing heavily himself and wiping the corner of his lip with his thumb is just too much to consider that. We should never be apart.

"Lay it on me if it makes you feel any better," I say, walking back to him slowly. He doesn't stop me when I curve my arms around his back and kiss the salt from his throat. He actually tips his head upwards to expose more skin to me. "I'm so _fucking_ angry, and I hate everyone but you."

The box shakes again to a stop and there's a hollow, clunking sound behind me. Like it was a alarm, he pushes past me and squeezes though the doors before they're fully open. Then sunlight floods this cavity. He's left his briefcase behind. I look at it lying on the floor by my foot. Someone walks in and I think that it might be him, but I look up at another voice shining with good fortune. Just another hopeless creature to steal my time.

"Prime Minister! I don't suppose that you've had a chance to look through my application for promotion, have you?"

* * *

**A/N** I don't think I've ever written such a long argument. On and on and on and mostly dialogue so it didn't take too long to write. I didn't want to clutter it up further apart from when I really had to. L's spiel on why he's great is a grand moment. I'm so proud of that beautiful contribution to fanfiction. Plus, I make swear words up now. 'Cuntbox' is my new favourite and I dedicate it to thebarstool. Oooh, oooh, I'd also like to thank MG for telling me how many sexual positions L should be proficient at. 'Not a really ridiculous number. I want some sense of reality,' I said. '86,' he said. Ok.

Thank you for the reviews, again. Love reviews. Please feed the monster for Christmas.

ElizabellaLight should be happy with this. Hope you're feeling better, m'lovely.


	13. He Was More Like Me Than Me

**A/N **This isn't very festive with peace and love towards all men, but if it was then I'd know that I was doing something wrong. Apologies for errors. It hasn't been proofread because I tend to do that way after the event, if ever, because I'm useless. Light, poor love. A crazy obsessive stalker Light is hard to write when you're not a crazy obsessive stalker, but I've known a few and seen them in action, so yay for those experiences. Some lines are verbatim and I'm generally pleased (kind of) because I have more sympathy for people I had little sympathy for before, but I think I made Light much nicer in this than they were, which is saying a lot really. Anyway, I'll post a Christmas present chapter tomorrow if I finish it in time. Chin up! Something a bit less crazy and sad is needed. It is very crazy, but yay! Violence! Merry Christmas! It will get happier soon, I promise. Not wheee!happy, but happier.

I am so not worthy of your reviews, chickadees. thebarstool, I love you. All reviews are most splendid and I'm just not worthy in a _Wayne's World_ way. So far, I have a date with ElizabellaLight and FreezeDryedGorgeous is going to have my children. Winning.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

**He Was More Like Me Than Me And I Couldn't Forget It**

* * *

My speech goes down a storm. How do I do it. It's like they've never noticed that it was a possibility at all, although it was glaringly obvious to me. They just needed to be told. The opposition murmur about scaring away large scale employers from the country, but even they can't deny that ripping money from somewhere is always a popular move and something the government should do at least once every ten years. I want an immense and painless cash injection into the economy and I want to be progressive. It's what we all talk about during election campaigns but no one has ever seemed to manage it with any success. It's easier to conveniently forget about our promises. We're like someone who married a girl just to get into her house, only to throw her out and move her best friend in and she can't do anything because of a cleverly worded prenup.

My idea is not as staggering as they think. I'm lowering taxes. Well, Treasury is, but it's all my idea and I'm presenting well before the budget so everyone knows. How I'm doing this is not giving with one hand and taking from the other, as is usually the case; I'm going after big companies like an aggressive dog instead. Multinationals who exploit legal devices to minimise liability for corporation tax are going to pay instead. Before now, governments have been frightened to act because it's easier to tax the working man than piss off huge market shareholders, but we'll see. I can always backtrack. Businesses don't bear grudges where there's money to be made. I've been warned that they could emigrate and stop selling to consumers in my country if threatened with tax demands. I don't blame them for trying to pay as little as possible, but it's morally wrong. I've proposed to simplify the tax system - all companies must be transparent and publish their accounts and we must block all channeling tactics through low-tax countries. Behemoths have to contribute to the infrastructure like everyone else. They will not be happy. Everyone else will be. Once this is in the news, I imagine that I'll almost hear my popularity rocket through the roof. I deserve a fucking pay rise for this.

After the speech, politicians start to file out two by two like they're boarding the ark, and I soak the moment in like a sponge. I think that I looked up at this same ceiling once and saw something evil watching me. I thought that I did. But I can't imagine doing anything but winning here. It's like this place was built for me. As people leave, one man walks the other way, inside, not outside, and it's L. Of course it is. I smile as he walks towards me and he smiles at his feet, but it's not friendly. It's not wide smiles and open hearts. It's a 'I find this funny and I'm going to shoot you down in flames' smile. I stop myself from crossing my arms because it would look like I'm trying to protect myself from what's coming.

He walks so slowly that he looks lazy, and I get bored of waiting. It reminds me of when he was tired once, and I was leaving his house for the drive back to Tokyo. He followed me, haunting me in that same lazy way, and stopped next to me with his eyes closed like he was sleeping as he stood. The sky was pale blue and the sun just rising at five in the morning, and it was one of those weird, sickeningly perfect moments in nature. I opened the door and heard birdsong and a cool breeze cut through my clothes, but he still stood there in nothing but his skin like he didn't feel it, and I wanted to laugh. I kissed him at the door and I didn't know why. He opened his eyes and looked as surprised as me, and I thought maybe he'd know why and maybe he'd tell me. I wanted someone to tell me: 'That's what it is, Light. You're done for now.' But he just smiled and told me to call him. I felt weak for him and I have done since then. I was angry that he'd made me weak and I tried to kill it as I drove home, but I never felt whole again. I had other things to think about. I bought a suit and a new 58 inch 3D 5,500,000:1 native contrast ratio 'unmitigated success' of a TV with a response time of 0.001 milliseconds and I wanted him to die.

I didn't call him. He called me.

By the time he reaches me, there are only two other people left in the room and they're talking by the door. L will probably speak in the low voice which he always uses with me now, like he's permanently angry and wary of me, and I just want to let him know that I'm prepared.

"Give me your best shot," I tell him when he stops in front of my desk.

"I heard a rumour that you were going to pretend that you knew something about law and justice today," he says. "I thought that I'd come to hear it for myself."

"As we've discussed before, you're not the only one with a law degree," I scowl back at him and clip the metal claws of a binder shut with a snap before I put it into my briefcase.

"Yes, you learned the words and read the books and took the exams and you probably got a good mark, but you know nothing. Because to know about law, you have to know about life."

"So you're the sole dissenter? I had second and third opinions on this bill from lawyers and economists, and you don't think that I'm doing the right thing."

"Let's just say that I'm glad I came all this way to watch you. It amused me to see you looking so virtuous."

"What do you think of it?"

"I think that talk of morality is for the pious, not politicians. Didn't someone say that once? There is no morality in business."

"It's unethical."

"What, are you trying to confuse me with your thesaurus? There's no room for ethics, morality, justice or whatever other word you like in business _or_ politics. You should know that by now."

"It is justice."

How dare he speak to me about justice and where it lives. I want his legs around my back and I'll keep killing him until he tells me that he's wrong, I'm right. I'm always right.

"Justice is not for people like you," he replies condescendingly. "You have no understanding and no mercy."

"And?"

"Oh, you mean, am I offended that you didn't ask for my advice on legislation? What do you think?"

"I think that we should go to bed or find a floor or a table or anything else that I can fuck you on."

His teeth graze over his bottom lip, interrupting his arrogance for a second. "You'd need my consent for that, wouldn't you?"

"I have your consent."

"Correction. You had my consent. Nice speech, Prime Minister. But it won't work," he sneers and walks away from me, back the way he came.

"Tax evasion or us?" I ask, but he doesn't stop.

"Both."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" I shout as my stomach churns. I hear the short echo of my question in the vaulted ceiling and my eyes immediately run to the two people talking by the door. They're looking at me, featureless. All I can see from here is blank expanses of face with no eyes, no nose, no mouth, but L doesn't stop walking and his voice is only slightly raised so I can hear him. I feel like I've been knocked down from a high place by just a few words and a dismissive glance.

"Is that really what you want? I could ask you the same thing."

* * *

I don't know how it happened but I'm having a party. Everyone goes outside to wait like a flock of seagulls on a small rock for the fireworks to start, but it's not time yet. I can see them all from the window; slate grey and barely there like shadows of themselves being enveloped by the darkness.

I turn around. L's staring at me with his bottle top eyes, just how he looks when he's thinking and almost finding an answer. And I never know what his question is, I never know what his answer is. He just stares at me, holding a glass in the thin branches of his fingers. I walk past him and I just know that he'll follow me, I don't turn around to check. I leave the door to the bathroom open and see a dark suit and his perfect face and his perfect hair and I don't know why they're so perfect to me, they never used to be. His hands are already unzipping his trousers.

I push him against the sink and the speed of it takes me by surprise. It doesn't seem quite real as my face twists between his shoulder blades. It's the most soulless fuck I've ever experienced, but I do it, because it's him and I'll take what I'm given. He doesn't make a noise, all I hear is my own breaths stutter out of my mouth and I kiss his jacket to try and stop the desperate sound. To feel the weave of the fabric move under my lips as I push against him and disappear.

There's heat all over and I keep pressed against him even afterwards, looking at his hands gripping the sink until he stands straight again. I want to keep him there. I want to apologise. I want. Then he just moves away from me, not even pushing me aside - it's just like I'm not there - and I'm left with my face in the mirror. Within moments he's gone again and I feel like such a pathetic thing, like I've been used. How couldn't he even say a word? Why did he follow me? Why he let me touch him? I'm not even worth a word, it's like he felt that it was his duty. I think of all the times when he'd smile at me before one of us turned around, and I started to like it so much that I wanted to face him always. I wanted to see every nuance on his face like he said he wanted to see mine. Before then, I'd made the unspoken rule that we'd never look at each other. I liked the roughness of it and the perfunctory act which meant nothing. That changed, and I used to like seeing him look like he was in pain and the hair sticking to his forehead when he was completely destroyed. I'd leave him that way in the early hours; go home or stay in a spare room until morning when we were both upright and dressed and sexless. But then I stayed, and I knew that he watched me when I slept.

I leave eventually and try to find him again because we're not animals. I'm not a pity fuck. I don't know what I am. Kiyomi finds me while I'm peering into every room as I search for him She tells me that I'm going to miss the fireworks. I don't give a shit about the fireworks but I have to be there, so I go with her. I forget my coat.

And I join the people and I must be a shadow from the window now too, just like them. The first rocket screeches into the sky and explodes in streaks of coloured fire, and there are countless others. They light up the garden and for just seconds at a time we're all whole again, and the fireworks scream when they see us and die. L is coloured green and misty with the smoke next to Stephen far away from me. Lit up and laughing at something Stephen's said, or maybe laughing at me, plunged in and out of darkness and light. But I stare at him, even when I can't see him. And then he's kissing him like he means it. I don't understand.

* * *

I work and smile as if there is nothing alive and breathing here. I go back to Kiyomi and smile appreciatively at the work she's overseen in the house, and all the mobiles and the fucking Peter Rabbits on the wall which make me want to drag shit all over them. And days pass like that, with little stabs sometimes which only remind me of why they hurt and why this isn't perfect like it should be. And weeks pass like that and I don't see and I don't hear from him. He should be the closest person to me. Kiyomi invited him and Stephen to dinner, and I don't mind if Stephen's there as long as L is. I'll be as nice as I can be, I don't care. I just want to be in the same room as him. But Stephen calls to decline apologetically. They're busy, apparently. Maybe another time.

Then L takes a week off work, which he never does. He's entitled to it but he's never done it, not since his father died and that doesn't really count. After looking into it, there's no reason given for his absence. He's just taking a week off. I find out that he's changed his home address to some lakeside house in Hakone, and I'm sad because I liked his old house and now I'll never be inside it again. I can't stop thinking about him and what _he's_ thinking and what he's doing and who with. All I want to do is to sleep and miss it, but I continue pulling myself around and I do everything right, everything perfect.

I realise that I've never felt lonely in my life. I didn't know what it was.

In me is a core of shaking anger and sadness. Part of me tries to rationalise, in some last ditch attempt of sanity, that I'm infatuated because I can't have him and it's only because of that. There's no other reason. I don't want him, I don't need him, I needed it to end. But I can blind myself to rationality easily. All there is is him and love and the lesser forms of it. I'm too good for this crippling feeling; a tightening heart when I'm unwanted. To be separated is painful, I want it to be shared. I don't think things through like I did, but I can't stop or change myself. I think that I'll do anything. I lie in bed and think of him with someone else while I'm with someone else. I take fire and quiet moments. I relive times and think of how I could have acted differently, should have acted differently, would act differently now. I'll take anything just to have him look at me. Maybe he's bored and I'm too late. I want this car crash but I never asked for it, and I think I'll never ever find myself again if I don't get him back. I'll never feel anything but loneliness ever again without a kind word. The only other thing I feel is anger. I will never be ignored.

Every memory and feeling I've ever had is pushed aside like a bodies lining my road. Maybe I am going mad.

But I heard a song today in the car while I was being taken to the House - _If you love somebody, set them free_. Why though? The way I see if, if you love someone, they shouldn't leave. If they do, you're well within your rights to hunt them the fuck down.

The sky turns from blue to dark blue to black as I drive with nothing but wind rushing through the windows and the low rumble of the engine like it's driving itself. Keys are cold in my pocket.

His house is lit from the inside and it looks like an expensive bath house, hidden from the world. I want to rear-end the hatchback hire car which sits snugly next to L's car in the driveway and shunt it through the garden and into the fucking lake.

I can't see much, only feel and hear the crunch of the gravel under my feet as I walk towards the front door. As I get closer, there's some dull jazzy shit playing inside. I knock loudly, and there's some commotion as people call out to each other inside the house - one bored, one agitated. I have it in my head that if Stephen opens the door then I might just punch him and slam his head into the gravel until he's buried in it, but L opens the door. He's in a black sweater and black trousers. It's strange to see him not wearing some variation of a suit, and it occurs to me that I never have seen him wear anything else in all the years I've known him. A suit or nothing at all.

"Jesus, Light, is that you?" he asks. No, it's Hansel and fucking Gretel.

"I need to speak with you."

"Did you actually drive out here?" Here is an example of how Stephen has had a detrimental effect on L. L is becoming blind to the obvious. He steps outside to peer into the darkness behind me, seeing the light reflecting off my car, and realises that perhaps I didn't swim here after all. "How do you know where I live?"

"Oh, excuse me for breathing. Is it a bad time? I'll wait then, shall I?"

"It's late. Hold on."

He grumbles and dips out of my sight for a moment before coming back with a coat. Seeing it reminds me that I don't have a coat and it's December and I'm spending my Friday night standing outside a thirty-eight-year-old man's house. Somewhere along the line, things went terribly wrong for me. He joins me, pulling the door so it's nearly shut behind him, and I realise that he expects me to stay outside his house. Coatless. This makes me surprisingly indignant.

"Why can't we talk inside?"

"Do you want me to get Stephen so he can listen to you too?"

"What are you doing with him?" I ask, equally indignantly and completely bewildered. The very mention of his name enrages me to the point of skipping the lines I had prepared in favour of ripping Stephen's throat out, but L either can't see my face in this darkness or just misreads me entirely. He sounds as dull as a blunt knife.

"We're about to have dinner," he says.

"No, what are you _doing_ with him? Why are you with him? Why is he here?" My voice is louder than I would like, but I can't do anything about that at the moment. I'm very close to carving a new face into Stephen. His smile would stretch right around his head. L can't misread me now and stands straight against the door like he's a barrier and knows what I'm thinking.

"I thought that was fairly obvious," he tells me, and I look at the floor. "What do you want, Light? I'm on leave. Can't this wait until Monday? Phone me tomorrow if you really need to. It can't be that important."

"Firstly, I didn't authorise your leave so you're not officially on leave, you're absconding. I could have you sacked for desertion. Secondly, you've changed your number. I can't call you. You're my Head of PR. Didn't you think that I'd notice? And why are you wearing that sweater? You don't wear things like that. Do you think that you're in a Scandinavian crime series?"

And... I hate myself. All I wanted was to be angry but reasonable, but instead my tone becomes increasingly pathetic with every word until it's just pure hurt and sweater disappointment. Neither of us sound like ourselves. He sounds like he's been been taken over by someone who goes birdwatching in an anorak. I fully expect him to defend his clothing choice but my tone and possibly how I turn away from him to rub the tension from my neck seems to capture enough of his attention to make him bend down to try and see my face.

"What's happened?"

"I just need to speak with you."

"But we're about to have dinner," he repeats. "He's cooked it from raw things and I'm obliged to eat it.".

"I'm so sorry to interrupt your fucking domesticity. What is wrong with you? Have you gone soft or something?"

"_You're_ on my doorstep..." he says angrily, stopping when he remembers something from months ago which I was thinking about all the way here. "I mean, you've turned up with no warning, and I am on leave whether you authorised it or not."

"Please. I'm asking you."

He shakes his head and the light from the window bounces off his hair as he moves. "Oh, alright," he sighs, and goes back inside.

"I'm freezing out here," I point out when I realise that he's going to shut the door in my face. He sighs again and lets me into his office while he goes somewhere else. I gaze around the room for a minute, finding no personality, only excessive tidiness. Until this moment, it's all been selfishness, but now I realise that I have to save L. That man's going to bore him into an early grave if I don't save him. Stephen's one of those parasites that draw blood so slowly that you don't realise you're ill until it's too late. He'll start with cooking and cleaning, which all seems innocent enough, but the the next thing you know, he'll have made L into some spiritless drone just like everyone else. My L's not like everyone else. He talks too much and he's messy and moody and childish and he finds everything sad and funny at the same time and I won't let anyone change him. The idea of being a saviour steels me to retrace his steps and overhear a conversation outside what I think must be a kitchen.

"L, we're having dinner with your mother," Stephen says with his curling voice. They're speaking English, which isn't surprising, but I wish that I'd had more time to work further through my Rosetta course so I could understand them better. L thinks I understand English as well as a frog does, and I'm quite happy for him to carry on thinking that. I'm confused about L's mother being there and part of me wants to find her just to see what she looks like. I'll just stare at her and walk away. With my eyes I'll tell her: 'I know about you.' Maybe she's in the house already? I'm about to go and find out, but L speaks cooly and makes me stay where I am.

"She'll understand."

"You can't just leave. What will she think?"

"She's made a lifetime's work of leaving people without notice or explanation so she will fucking well understand! She'll probably think that it's inherited," L shouts like a geyser erupting. I wish I could see him. I knew that he wasn't suited to all this niceness.

"At least she's trying. You're not," Stephen shouts back in reply. Oooh.

"Maybe she should have made an effort twenty years ago. I'll be back later," he says, having regained his monotony. He shocks me by stepping into view but he turns back around when Stephen snorts from the kitchen like a pig or an ugly horse, and he doesn't notice me standing a few feet away from him. "What? Do you think it's funny?" he asks, going back inside.

"You were all for this before, but then he turns up and now you don't want to be here, you want to be where he is." Ha. Yes.

"What are you saying?" When he doesn't get an immediate answer, L loses his temper which runs on the shortest fuse I know anyway. "Stephen!"

"What? Stop shouting."

"Oh, so you can hear me and you still have the power of speech?"

"Go, L," Stephen tells him. "I'll look after her. Maybe she won't notice that you've bailed on her."

"This is my job. I'm not 'bailing.'" Again, he doesn't get a reply. He always gets one from me. "Look, you arranged this, not me. I don't want anything to do with her. It's you who wants to play happy families."

"You said that you wanted to see her!"

"I said that because you wanted me to. I have to go. I've got a politician in my office."

"If you go, you'll be making a mistake."

"We all know that you've been blessed with the most excellent parents and upbringing like the fucking Waltons, Stephen. I know all about it. But mine was not like that, and it's not something to be resolved with a tiramisu, not matter how much amaretto you put in it."

"You know, you changed as soon as you answered the door," Stephen says, pauses and gasps. "Oh. I get it."

"Whatever you get, you're wrong."

"Him."

"Yes, once again you've found me out. The most reasonable conclusion is that I'm going to work to fuck the Prime Minister. That's my job. The law thing was all a ruse to cover up my profitable whoring abilities. No wonder you were in the CIA because your assumptions are mind blowing, Stephen. My mind is completely blown."

"It's true, isn't it? I'm right. But he's married. They're trying –"

"Christ's sake, wait there a minute. Light?" L shouts. I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to see Stephen unless he's undergoing some form of torture, and I don't want to be drawn into some weak argument and lie that L's come up with. Stephen's right. It is me. I'm the reason his landlord isn't acting as bland as he is. L appears around the doorway, so he obviously expects me to lie and do it well. "Light, come in here. Tell Stephen."

I reluctantly step into the doorway next to him. Stephen is near a kitchen table which has plates and a very tidy pile of vegetable peelings on it. He looks as stupid as always. Worse in fact. I can't be fooled by a nice face and I don't think his is particularly special anyway; it's just inoffensive. I'm tired of looking at him already and I'm sure that it shows.

"Tell him what?" I ask L.

"That's a very good question. No wonder you're the figurehead of the government," L says, looking to Stephen. "Well? Why don't you ask him? If you don't believe me, then ask him. Piss off the Prime Minister of Japan, go on. Why not? It's Friday."

Stephen doesn't ask me anything. He can barely look at me. He simply turns away and pulls some milk out of the fridge. "What should I say to your mother then?" he mutters moodily, and in English, which I think is very disrespectful.

"Tell her that I'm fucking the Prime Minister. It's what you think. It's ok, I'll tell her. She'll be so proud. Having affairs must be in the blood," L continues to rage at him with one one wrapped tightly around himself and the other gesticulating with a glass of wine he's found. He swaps to Japanese for my benefit, but just for a moment. "Sorry, Light, but Stephen is being a dickhead. He's probably feeling homesick for his dickhead best friend, Krystal 'WITH A K'! God almighty! Who introduces themselves like that? Did she expect me to write her a cheque or something? I still can't _believe_ that you paid for her ticket. I just... I cannot... Ugh. Was it so important that I knew that she couldn't spell? As if Crystal with a C isn't bad enough. We all know her name's Bob. Gender reassignment, a bad wig and nipple tassels don't make her Marilyn Monroe. Naming herself after Hugh Hefner's wine glass and not spelling it correctly, get to fuck. No, Stephen, for the record, I did not bloody like her!"

"Will you keep your voice down?" Stephen says, managing to make just as much noise when he slams a frying pan on the table. He glances at me, embarrassed and I almost sympathise. I grin weakly.

"I don't give a shit if my mother hears me and I doubt that Krystal with a K in fucking D fucking C can. Besides, I think that excuse is as good as any. I sleep with Prime Ministers, yeah! Why not, eh? I'm just spreading the word." L finishes and Stephen looks like he's about to bawl his eyes out while he spoons carrots into a dish. I can hardly stop myself from laughing, but then L decides that he is a soft touch after all. "Fuck's sake, don't look like that," he sighs. "Light, wait in the car," he tells me, and I move back outside to stand beside the door again. The interlude was worth it just to see the look on that cretin's face but I'm not going to the car to let them do something terrible on the kitchen table. I should ban people called Stephen from being in this country.

"I have to get back to your mother," Stephen tells him. "She's on her own in there and... shit. The food's cold."

"She has Nat King Cole for company and, I don't know, nuke the carrots. Wait. Listen to me, listen," L says quietly. "There's nothing going on. Not what you think. And Krystal with a K wasn't all that bad after I'd had a few drinks."

"And what do I think, L?"

"Do you believe me?"

"No. But we'll talk about it later. By the way, you drink too much."

"I wouldn't lie to you. I'm done with lies," L reacts to the verbal shrugging off. So he'll lie to everyone else but he'll tell the truth to some sweet soul he met a few months ago? Yeah. When he appears a few seconds later and notices me as he pulls his coat from the coat rack again, my shoulders fall from the sight of him. I wonder why I'm fighting so hard for his attention and why I drove an hour away to see him when I could be reading about public spending. He's just something made of skin and bone and lies, and this is so below me. But my anger is gone in an instant, which is amazing really. I follow him as he sweeps outside. He expects me to shut the door after us. I don't.

"I told you to wait in the car," he says with a face like thunder as he keeps walking.

"And freeze to death instead of catching that little performance?" I ask with a laugh, which makes him turn around.

"Actually, he has a point. He usually does. Why am I dropping everything for you?"

"Only you know that." I grip him arm and whisper in his ear. "You're with me now. If you go back inside then you'll just look weak and guilty. He hit the nail right on the head. It's up to you. Go back in and lie to him, if you like. I'll just wait here. I've got all weekend."

He considers what I've said and it appears to trouble him. I worry then that he might like the idea of seeing if I _will _wait outside for two days, but ultimately he decides to walk to my car. I look back towards the house and grin at all the little lights inside like it's a massive gingerbread house before getting in the car myself, starting the engine quickly.

"Ok, what? Do we have to go to the office for this?" he asks when I start reversing the car. Clearly he was hoping that this could be something we could sort out in the driveway.

"Don't you like fighting with little Stephen then?"

"No. But don't talk about him. What's so important?"

"Why is Mihael not talking to you?"

"God, I hope that's not what you wanted to talk about. He's very temperamental. Where are we going?"

"It's because of Stephen, isn't it?"

"No."

"He thinks you're with him for the wrong reasons."

"No. It's not that."

I'm speeding along the deserted road and practically at my destination within minutes of silence after that. We're not going in the direction of the main road to Tokyo and he knows it.

"There is no work, is there? There's nothing important you have to say," he says. Well.

"I have plenty to say to you."

"Turn the fuck around."

"Shut up, we're almost there."

"Where?"

"It's a surprise. You used to like surprises. You should close your eyes so it'll be better."

"I'm not a child and I don't like your surprises," he tells me. I turn off the road and drive along a path for a few seconds until a small house comes into view. "What is this?" He says as I draw up. A security light clicks on cue.

"It's a present really," I say, switching of the engine. I get out of the car and rush around to the other side to open his door because he's making no effort to do so himself. "Come on."

I drag him, almost running, towards the house. It's nothing to look at compared to his, but it's meant as a retreat more than somewhere you'd live. It looks better inside, so I wanted to gloss over the outside and show him what I've found. I shut the door behind him and turn on the lights to reveal the Le Corbusier-esue open interior, and he looks appropriately shocked, so much that he stops walking. "Lacking that spring in your step and that glint in your eye?" I ask, likes a salesman. "Bored by boring people? Welcome to the Shag Pad Mark Two. Nobody even knows it's here. Scream as much as you like. No one, not even your mother, will hear you; only the koi carp will. I was promised koi carp but I don't know where they are."

"What?" L breathes. The acoustics in this place are fantastic considering all the floor to ceiling windows, and acoustics are important. I pull him after me, leaving him in the middle of the room while I go to the kitchen. I take out a block of cheese from the fridge to slice slithers of it off, placing them on my tongue like pieces of apple.

"I got a bank statement a week or so back and it turns out that I'm quite wealthy, so I thought that I'd get a little something," I explain through the cheese. "Look, look!" I point the knife towards the window, and when he realises what I'm pointing at, he doesn't look very impressed by the view we have of his house. He backs away from me and the window. Shock can do that to people.

"Do you think that we should get a telescope?" I ask. "Is your mother actually there? What does she look like? Didn't you say once that she was beautiful? Isn't that why your father married her? Didn't she win an award? I suppose she's not beautiful now. Old." I nod to my own statement. I have too many questions and things to say to him – a year's worth – and suddenly I can't stop talking, even with my mouth full. He's staring at me now. "What?"

"This is disturbing," he says.

"This is fate. Who would have thought that the first place I saw would be so close to your house? I'm renting it but, I don't know, do you think I should buy it?" It was laughable really, it was so fucking perfect. Yet another example of fate dancing for me while dressed as coincidence.

"Do you know what this looks like?" he asks me. His eyes are clear and he can't be angry with me, can he? I chew on the buttery, grainy, melting mess for a few moments. I can't allow myself to speak with my mouth full. I can't even laugh like I want to until I've swallowed.

"Ha! Do you think that I'm stalking you? Do you think that I've kidnapped you? Do you like that idea? We could go with that if you want. I suppose I could tie you up or something." I absentmindedly look around for something which might serve, but I don't think a towel would work. "Do you want some cheese?"

"Can you stop waving that knife around?"

"This? I didn't realise. Wait, do you think I'm going to kill you with a cheese knife in a jealous rage? L, really?"

"You have to get rid of this place. You never rented it. I'll sort it out tomorrow," he says, agitated now that the shock has worn off. What did he think this was?

"Why? I thought that you'd be pleased."

He looks at me, blinking, like he doesn't understand me. I watch him as he sits on the bed in the middle of the room. He has no other option because there aren't any chairs. It's style over substance. The place would be too cluttered. All I want in here is him and a bed, and the bed isn't even necessary. I'm exhausted by luxury.

"Why should I be pleased? You've bought a place which is practically in my garden," he says loudly, pointing in the direction of his house. "What are you trying to do here?"

"It's five miles away. There's a pier or something down there. Did you know? It's too dark now but you'll be able to see it tomorrow morning."

"Uh, no. I have to go home." He moves slowly like he's following advice on how to to back away when confronted with something unpleasant in the jungle.

"L, I got this place for you," I say, walking towards him quickly so he sits down again. He flinches slightly as I sit next to him, but I don't really notice. My phone starts ringing and I turn it off when I see the caller ID. Straight to voicemail you go.

He stares at the floor as he speaks, and though it's very nice cherry wood flooring, part of me thinks that considering retreating strategies.

"Shouldn't you get that?" he asks. I don't know why he sounds so nervous. It's not like he's as pure as snow.

"It's the mother-in-law. More commonly known as the lesser spotted interfering bitch. She shouldn't be around much longer," I tell him cheerfully. I do hope so. She has a tendency to overshare and upsets Kiyomi every time she speaks to her. I am not to be trusted because I am a man and therefore biologically inferior. Misandry is alive and well and living in Mrs Takada.

"Is she ill?"

"She will be one day."

"It could be about Kiyomi."

"No, Kiyomi's ok. She's staying at her mother's to help her sister with something. I can't remember but it's a charity thing and it doesn't matter. I said that I'm staying at a hotel after a meeting."

"This is wrong," he sighs.

"_You're_ wrong," I say and run my hand up his thigh. Hello again, thigh. "This is the way it was always meant to be right from the start. It solves all our problems."

"So you bought a house to solve non-existent problems? Forgive me, but your priorities are a bit fucked up, Light."

"It's rented, I told you. What's your problem?" I ask, and start taking off his ugly shoes because he forgot to when he came in. "Anyway, we need to talk about Stephen."

"Do we?"

"Well, yeah! Now, I understand that... well, I didn't expect you to become a monk."

"I'm so pleased that I have your permission."

"But cut it out now. I don't like it. You win. Get rid of him."

"You think it's about you?"

I laugh as I crawl onto him and start gnawing at his collar bone. I forgot how nice my voice sounds when I'm saying things against him. "Of course it's about me."

He pushes me away suddenly, holding his hand flat against my chest so I'm at a distance. You wouldn't think that he felt anything for me at all if you based it on how he's looking at me now, but he's just playing.

"You didn't come into it," he says, as if he means it. "I know it's hard for you to understand, but you're not the centre of the world. Mine or anyone else's. Wasn't I clear enough with you? All that's over between us. You have Kiyomi, I have Stephen, and I don't want to do this. Whatever it is you're thinking this is. Shag Pad Mark Two, Jesus Christ," he finishes, letting go of me to rub his forehead so I can take up where I left off with the exposed V of skin below his neck.

"You're lying. I can tell. We've known each other too long for lies to sound like truth. Just get rid of him tomorrow. I wouldn't mind so much, but you've let him make you into a boring old fuck. You need some life in you. I suppose that's my job."

"Light, I've been trying to finish this for years. I'm sorry to be blunt, but seriously, I knew that you were a nut years ago. Don't take offence."

"How can I not take offence? I'm not a nut! You're the nut."

"Ok then, take offence. Do we really need to go through this step by step? This whole thing here?" he says, moving his hand in a circle in front of me. "It's nuts. You did it, so you're a nut. But when you announced your candidacy, I thought that we had an understanding. When Kiyomi came back, you'd marry her and that was it. It's over. There's no future and there never was. Do I need to sing you a Roxette song?"

"You know that's all business. You said so yourself."

"No it isn't. Don't take any notice of what I said then. I was very, very stupid."

"I don't see why we can't carry on like we used to," I laugh in exasperation while he stares at me as though seeing something for the first time.

"Ok, Ok. I get it," he smiles bitterly, sitting up straight to pull his phone from his pocket. "I can give you the number of a very discreet and talented man in Shinjuku. Really, he's very good. You'd like him." And there's the standard recommendation of a prostitute he's probably pushed on to countless other politicians.

"Ha! Oh, please. Don't be funny," I say, taking the phone from his hands and tossing it aside. It makes a deep crack noise as it hits the floor. He looks at me with an outraged intensity before I try to kiss him, but holds me away again. This is getting tiring. He's a bucket of cold water in human form.

"God, this is never gong to end, is it?" he sighs.

"It's never going to end," I agree. The admission makes me half-close my eyes as I push my chest against his hand in the hope that his arm might break.

"You know what we had?" he asks me, suddenly furious. "Nothing. I tried with you but you chose your career over me and that was it. I made a mistake again, didn't I? Why can't you grow up? I'm trying to do something right here. Why are you trying to stop me?"

"Shhhhh... Be quiet now or I'll have to make you. This is how it is," I tell him, placing my hands on his shoulders. "He's got to go. You don't need him anymore. He's served his purpose."

"No."

"Just do it, L. Get rid of him or I will"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Let's just say that he'd prefer an exit by your hands if he knew the alternative. Good try though. Good try. It worked, because look, I came back for you. One of us had to work something out and I did. I'm making time for you, like you said." My eyes feel heavy when I look at him and I lean forwards again instinctively, only for him to fling me onto my back. He kicks like a horse sometimes. "Oh, hello! You're not completely dead then," I laugh with him on top of me and his sharp elbows digging into me. "For a while there I thought that he'd bored you to death."

"You have no right to tell me to do anything, you arrogant little shit. I don't want you!" He shouts at me. I don't know, I'd believe him if I didn't know better, but I can't help but shout back at him anyway. The koi carp will just have to deal with it, wherever they are. I realise that I don't raise my voice with anyone apart from L, and the feeling is rare and precious and tempting to me.

"You can't switch things on and off like it didn't mean anything! You can't change, L. You're just like me."

"You're what I use to be. But I can change even if you can't."

"Oh, you and your shit bravado. Even though he's the scum of the earth, your Stephen was right about one thing; you could have told me to fuck right off, but you didn't. You dropped him and your mother and your tiramisu just for me. Don't tell me that you don't want me. It's the lie of the century."

"All I have left is some lingering respect for you and I'm losing that pretty quickly because dragging me here is just sad. You're sad and your suits can't hide it. I see you. Be happy for me, Light. I'm happy for you even though you're obviously not happy for yourself. You have a nice set up. Your wife is your clone with a vagina and you really couldn't do better for yourself than you have done. I don't know why I thought it was such a bad idea. Rejection is tough but please try to adjust to it and don't turn into some batshit Miss Havisham. Have you even seen Stephen? Why would I leave him for you. You're a politician, for Christ's sake. No one would choose you."

"I've seen him al –"

"No. Listen. I wanted you. I had you. And I don't want you anymore."

I can't breathe for a second and it's only when he starts moving away from me that I find that I still can move. I grab his sweater to pull him back, and my hands hurt with the force of my knuckles locking and how my fingers dig into my palms through the wool like he's the only thing stopping me from falling into a ravine.

"If you move, I will fucking kill you."

I'd love to do it. Since I met him, part of me has wanted nothing more than to kill him. I'd love to watch his eyes glaze over and be open forever, staring at me wherever I go. Maybe keep him in a glass case. Send him off to Damien Hirst to plop him in some formaldehyde. He laughs at me, and I place my hand just under his jaw. I could snap his neck suddenly to one side and it would all be over. It's funny to simultaneously love and despise the one person with the same magnitude of feeling.

"You'd never kill me, Light. I mean far too much to you," he says to me, the words like sandpaper because of the pressure of my hand around his throat. I sit up and draw myself closer, forcing him to sit on me like a lap dog. He gasps for breath under my hand. The feeling of having air denied to him brings some reluctant fear into his eyes, and it's beautiful how dark they get. I'll either speak to him, kiss him or kill him, and I'm not sure which to do first. Things should be done in that order, I guess. I should give him a chance. My voice is low, quiet, controlled and close to his mouth, and I think that anyone else but him would really start to worry.

"He's in my country and I don't want him here. Either you get rid of him or I will – it's up to you. It doesn't make any difference to me as long as I never see his face again. It's never over, L. I haven't said it's over. You are mine and you will do what I tell you to do, because you don't want to know what I'll do otherwise."

I'm so strangely calm within my anger that I nearly forget who I'm speaking to. L's face like that, so close to mine, eases me into a nostalgic lull. I pull him closer, take my hand from his throat and wrap my arm around his back instead.

"God, I've missed you. He must bore you to tears. Dinner with your mother, then what? Watch a film, play a game of snap and go to bed in a completely cold and sexless bed. Maybe you bought an electric blanket like people your age do. Isn't that what you told me once? A nice little bed already warmed up so you don't have to. My mistake. It's just sexless then. Never thought I'd see the day."

"You're not going to talk about him anymore," he tells me, and it's almost sweet really, how brave he is. "You're not going to ruin this for me."

"Ruin what? Are you going to stick on a bobble hat and reenact _Love Story_ with Preppy over there? He's disgusting. But it's done. Now shut up and lie the fuck down."

Without any warning – maybe I'm too slow and he's too quick – he punches me. My teeth crash together from the force of him hitting my jaw as I fall back against the bed, and he keeps punching me. It's just a constant volley which intensifies the pain. Every cell of me is alive and screaming 'make him stop, make him stop' but no. If anyone was going to kill me, I'd want it to be him. I think that this is it, he really is going to kill me, but because of some idiot. No, it's more than that. It's because I left him, it must be. He left me, and I didn't find him like I said I would. I lift my arm and my hand brushes against his, so I grip it while his other hand keeps slamming into my face, blacking out my view of him like a pulse of hot whiteness and blurry vision. I'm not going to stop him, it's something he has to do and I don't really mind. But then he stops as soon as I touch him, and for some reason the pain rushes to a new level in the aftermath, like it's an echo he was holding back. He could have broken something and he needs to play nice or not at all. Kill me, or don't touch me. He's all flushed when I open my eyes, and shocked at what he's done. I always knew that he was capable of this and more and I'm almost proud of him, but all I did was insult_ Love Story_ and it was a bad film anyway. My hand rubs my eye for a moment and my jaw feels stuff when I try to open and close it. He's just hit the same side of my face repeatedly and it feels swollen and angry already. This is going to look impressive in the morning. I think of Monday morning and how I might explain this. Some drunk person attacked me. No. I crashed my car. No, I'd have to crash my car then and that wouldn't look good in the press. I fell. Yes. I fell ten times against someone's fist. I fell.

L whispers my name like it's an apology but I can't let him speak. I don't want to hear him apologise, it would ruin the whole thing for me. I pull him towards me and kiss him hard so it hurts, sending a new wave of pain through me to make me shiver. He gives nothing in return at first, like he _is_ dead, but he gives in quickly like he always did. Reluctance, then aggression then abandon - it's always the same but I never did get tired of it. He moves his face so his nose is pressing into my cheek and it feels cooling. I want him closer, and make myself flush with his chest, and with him pressing against me again, this year didn't happen. Nothing happened. I've never been lonely. It's all forgotten and remembered. I reach down and push my hand down his trousers and he's a lying bastard, I knew it. And he thought that he could lie to me. His mouth parts from mine and he can't breathe. It takes him a second to even breathe. I angle my head upwards to watch his eyes flutter shut as I squeeze harder. I love watching him, especially now that he has a thin streak of blood across his cheek, knowing that it's my blood. He's furious with himself. I stretch to place a kiss in the hollow under his chin to reward him for it.

"There. I knew it. Lie about that."

"That's biology," he breathes back in a jittery mess. I missed you I missed you.

"No," I smile kindly, because he's still so funny. As my mouth arches, it makes my whole face ache. "He can't compete with that. No one can. All this time we've wasted. I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

He looks above us for answers again, but the answers aren't there, they're here. I think I will regret it. I regret meeting him in the first place but I can't change that now. I hate wasting my time and he reminds me of how boring and empty my life has become. I didn't notice.

I push his face to my throat and feel him kiss it. It runs through me, all those tingling nerve endings crying out for the little death while my fingers twine his hair between them. My head hurts like my heart hurts. I think about all he's said because I don't want to think about it later, when he's gone. If I think about it now then I'll edit it down to what I want to remember, and I think better when he's near me and can prove himself wrong. Then, maybe, I can think about something else again, something worthy, and give it the attention it deserves. I don't realise that I'm doing it, because I'm struggling to hold some sense in my brain to be guarded, but suddenly I'm saying what's in my head. There are too many things in there and they're all about him. I'm not sure when that happened. He should know. I should tell him.

"I love you, you bastard, it's what you wanted. I told you then and you didn't believe me, but it doesn't matter now. Still, he's been around too long. Too long, L. You could get used to someone in that time."

"I am used to him, like you're used to Kiyomi. Maybe I love him," he mumbles against my throat between wet kisses.

"Don't make me laugh. You love him like I love tax returns. We're forever."

He draws back and lightly presses his hand to the side of my face, almost covering it like he doesn't want to see what he's done.

"I never agreed to that. I don't even like you," he says cruelly. I move his hand from my face and then trace the line of blood on his cheek with my thumb and smile at where I've marked him.

"Show me how much you don't like me."

He kisses me like it's a demand, but I adjust to that. My head is full of Stephen now. Behind that curtain, he's in that house with all the lights on.

L rips at my tie and nearly strangles me, pops a couple buttons on my shirt and I nearly say something because I'm practically being beaten up by a man in a lambswool sweater. But then he's kissing my chest and a hot mouth feel nice there. I think my heart only beats a couple of times a day sometimes, but now it's like a maniac's who's high at a 80s revival. L's talking, rushing words out between panting breaths. But he's not. I am.

"Everyone but you disappoints me, always. And even you try to leave. I hate him. I hate his face. I hate that he's in your house and in your bed and that he feeds you and makes you do things you don't want to do. I hate that he thinks you're his. I hate that you're pretending to be so fucking happy with him. It's cruel really. To him. What does he do? Does he do this, or does he just bend over and sing 'As Time Goes By'?"

He looks up at me and some hair falls across his eye. I push it out of the way and I think that I'm smiling, but he shirks me away. He looks so angry, like he's someone who's about to go down a coal mine on a sacrificial rescue mission. "What am I doing?" he breathes and moves away from me, slipping his shoes on. "What _is_ wrong with me?"

"Come back here."

"Light, I'm only going to say this once, and if you don't listen, I _will_ kill you. If you do anything to him, I will kill you. And, unlike you, I don't mean metaphorically, I mean in a very real sense. Do not mention him."

"Ok," I say and reach out towards him. I believe him. I don't want to talk about Stephen anyway, not if he won't join in with my mockery. But he stands up and picks up his coat, putting it over one arm. "Where are you going? You cant walk back there in the dark for God's sake. I'll follow you. L, there's no point."

"If you follow me, I mean it, I'll tell everyone and I don't care what you do. I'm not doing this." He's nearly at the door and I grab the edge of the bed to pull myself up, but when I stand I only manage a few steps before I lose my balance and fall forwards like fucking Bambi. After putting my arms out in time to stop myself from falling entirely, I try to stand again, but I can't. I'm just some graceless, clumsy, staggering idiot skittering across the floor on all fours. Just shaking hands trying to drag myself towards him, and I start to panic because I can't do what I want to do. He's going to leave and go back to Stephen with my blood on his face and I can't stop him.

Instead of relief, I feel humiliated and low when his feet come into view in front of me.

"You can't drive," his emotionless voice tells me.

"I can. _Fuck!_" I shout, and it makes my head burn. I fucking well can though.

"No. But you'll kill yourself trying, won't you?" he sighs and I look up at him with bleary eyes. "Look, this what we'll do. I'll stay with you, but none of this. I'll listen to you, that's it. I'll just sit here and if you act up then I'm going. I'll take your car and I'll call Matsuda. Do you understand? Light. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I hiss.

"Marvellous."

He bends to help me to my feet. I try to just hold him but he moves too quickly for me. All I can do is stare at the side of his face as he walks me backwards. The back of my knees hit the the bed and I fall back heavily into a seated position.

"How can you do this to me?" I ask, looking at his feet.

"I didn't do anything to you, Light. You did this to yourself."

"Uh, hello. Look at my face!" I say, looking up at him to show him the damage I can only imagine, but he doesn't look like he feel particularly responsible for it.

"I hit you, but you deserved it and I'm not sorry."

He turns and my mouth falls open in horror because I think he's going to leave again. He catches sight of himself in a mirror and stops to stare at himself, walking closer to his reflection and rubbing his fingers furiously at the blood on his cheek like Lady Macbeth. Satisfied that it's gone, like his guilt, he goes to the kitchen and starts looking through the empty fridge.

"Jesus, all you have is fucking cheese!" he says. It was all I had the chance to buy before a crowd starting hoarding around me. But, y'know, protein, calcium and it has a decent shelf life when properly refrigerated. Cheese is very versatile. Eventually L finds some ice, but he'll be disappointed when he finds that there's nothing to go with it. Strangely, he tips the ice into a towel. I smile when he walks back towards me, rolling the towel into a ball, and a racing heat spreads across the centre of my face and makes me wince.

"Here," he mumbles, offering the rolled up towel to me.

"What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Put it on your face, you idiot. You look like Mickey Rourke."

He loses patience because I'm so slow to comprehend what he's talking about, and presses the ice to the side of my face as he sits down next to me. I put my hand over his as he holds the ice there, and lean towards him, but he's just straight and indifferent like a nurse who's seen it all before, has worked a very long shift, is bored and just wants a cup of tea. Somehow he's manoeuvred me onto the bed, lifting up my legs to lie flat on it like I'm an awkward patient. Some fallen soldier who just wants to get back into the thick of battle and kill some people.

"I don't understand you. What do you want from me?" I ask.

"Nothing. I just want to go back home and go to bed, but since you're like this, that's not going to happen. Give me your keys." I can't believe how serious he looks. He really doesn't want to be here and he never did.

"How do I know that you won't just leave?"

"You'll have to trust me," he says. I pull the keys out of my pocket.

I pat my hand on the space next to me, where I want him, in exchange for the keys. It must look like begging and I'm disgusted with myself. He rolls his eyes and his jaw is set like he really doesn't want to, but he sits next to me and pulls his legs onto the bed next to mine.

"Do one thing and I'm off, ok?" he tells me when I put my arm around his waist and rest the iced side of my face against his stomach. I follow the curving cables knitted into his sweater back and forth a few centimetres with my finger and they're a road that goes nowhere. Air rasps in and out of my chest like I'm in some cold place and can't breathe properly.

"You're doing to me what David did to you. That's what this is, isn't it? You're getting your own back. Well done, L. Look what you did; I'm a mess. Well done. You got your own back."

"What are you talking about David for? This is nothing to do with him."

"I think sometimes that I know him, like I was with him once. I've given him a face. I think about him a lot."

"He's dead, Light. He had a brain haemorrhage two years ago. Someone told me when I was in London."

"He's dead?" My eyes sting suddenly but I blink it away and then it's gone. "Oh. Good. I'm glad he's dead."

"Don't say that. You have no reason to hate him. He had a family. I met his partner while I was there. They fostered shitloads of kids and he didn't even have life insurance. Stupid. He always was stupid. It's such a fucking shame. Why do the good ones always have to go?"

"Pffff... So, he's dead and you got over it so easily. I bet you weren't even sad. Full stop, new paragraph, right?"

"What?"

"Don't you remember anything you said to me? I remember everything. You got over him like you think I'll get over you, but I'm not like you, L. I won't get over it."

"You'll be ok."

"Don't tell me that I'll be ok, you bastard! I will not be fucking ok," I shout brokenly. I wouldn't let myself be ok, not now. I'd tear my own face off rather than give in. I make a decision and stick to it, and my decision is not to ever be ok until _he_ gives in. My eyes hurt and my mouth feels like it's full of dirt. I think I spat on his sweater and feel sick that I did that, but the disgust just adds to my outrage because I wouldn't be like this at all if it wasn't for him. "Are you telling me that Stephen is better than me? Because I can't believe that. You're angry with me, and I'm sorry, but I couldn't do anything. You could have gone with David when he asked you, you just didn't want to. That's what you said. I wanted to, I just couldn't. You fucked off and left me standing there all that time, and it wasn't something I could fix with a sad song and a bottle of vodka."

"You can't take any responsibility, can you? It's not my fault," he says tiredly. He should eat some cheese.

"What? How is it not your fault? You kept chipping away at me for years because you wanted me to be this way. Then you go, it's fine. Why did you come back?"

"For work."

"Liar. You did come back for me."

"No."

"And because I didn't come running as soon as your plane touched down, you grabbed the first shithead who showed an interest."

"It wasn't like that at all," he says. I notice for the first time that he's wearing jeans. They're black denim and I'm guessing that they're expensive - I'd have to check if they're proper selvedge denim to say for sure - but they're still jeans and I don't like this fact. Fucking Stephen's put him in jeans so he's durable and they can fix cars and put shelves up together and have sex on abrasive surfaces without grazing his knees.

"Tell me, L. Tell me a nice story. How did you meet really? Was he just easy? Because you never did have any patience. I was only asking you to wait a few years."

"A few years!" he laughs. "God, I've got to hear this. Really? What then?"

"I'll leave her."

"Ha."

"What do you want? Do you want me to resign? Because I... could, I suppose. I won't do anything, ever, but I'll have you. I don't know how long I could live with myself. Is that what you always wanted? Someone to give up everything they have just to prove something to you?"

I can't blink, I just stare ahead of me into the distance and not really seeing what's there. I could leave. I have money and maybe it's not too late. I have a lot of money which I officially don't have in offshore black holes of accounts. Kiyomi probably wouldn't mind. She has a name and she's popular and has money of her own. I'd be a joke but people would forget my name and my family would understand. They'd think that I was mad to leave what I have now for my lanky Head of PR who has bad social skills, but they'd understand. I wouldn't lose anything there. I wonder how much it would bother me if they didn't understand. I don't think that it would really. My life would be so much calmer. I probably wouldn't have to work again and I could take up making homemade soap to fill up my days or something. No, not really. But I'm so close to changing things and clearing the rot. Wouldn't it be selfish of me to walk away when I'm the only one who could do it? It would be.

"Do it, Light," L tells me, and in that instant, I would. "Do it, because I would put everything I own on the bet that you never would for any reason. If someone was holding a gun to my head and the only way you could stop them from killing me would be to resign, I'd be dead so fast I wouldn't know what happened. So, yeah, Light, resign and leave Kiyomi. Ruin your life entirely. But it would make no difference to me and you'd lose the only thing you really care about."

"I _would_ do it. I just don't trust you."

"You shouldn't. I'm happy now and I'm not leaving Stephen for you, no matter what stupid decisions you make or don't make."

"I won't tell him. Keep him. I don't mind."

"That's good of you. But I'm telling him when I get back."

"No!" I shout again, and my face hurts again, unsurprisingly, so I dig it further into the ice to numb it. I realise then that I'm not ready for the reality of blasting everything open.

"Don't worry. He won't be interested in what you do, he's interested in what I do. I didn't tell him about us, I admit it. But he knows now anyway."

"How did he know?"

"He knows me."

"No he doesn't. I know you. I've tried. I've tried, but it's different and it shouldn't be. It's not my fault," Something about what I say or how I say it makes him stroke the back of my neck. "Why are you being like this again?" I ask him.

"Has something changed?"

"Well, I was under the impression that we had sex in the bathroom," I laugh bitterly.

"Recently?"

"The party, L. It wasn't long ago. Do you have early onset dementia?"

"Light, we didn't. What party?"

"Oh. Great. You want to play it that way? It didn't happen. It was off the books."

"No, I'm not saying that you didn't, but it wasn't with me," he says, and after a moment of blankness, it strikes true with me somewhere. But it would mean...

"But –"

"Don't think about it. You'll be ok in the morning and we'll forget about this whole thing. Just calm down and go to sleep." I feel his face press into the top of my head but he hesitates like he's remembered that he shouldn't kiss it.

"No, I didn't imagine it, I didn't."

"Maybe it was just stress," he tells me. That's the shittiest excuse I've ever heard. It's also a lie. It's the kind of verbal bromide he always throws up when sarcasm won't cut it. In his head, he's backing the hell away from me and calling the psych ward, I know it.

"No, I was there and you were there and... God, I am going mad, aren't I?"

"You're not going mad."

"I am mad," I say, not even believing that much because I just can't. I woke up and I thought it had really happened. I don't know what to believe, but I know that it didn't happen. "It's like when I see things that aren't there. When I saw the devil and he was laughing at me."

He's quiet for a moment. It takes that long to sink in. I am a fucking nut.

"Ok," he says slowly. "You're going mad. When did you see the devil?"

"Twice. With you. It's _you_! You making me mad!" Yes, it's his fault! I was fine before he turned up. You could have set a clock by me.

"What did he look like? The devil, I mean," he asks, rubbing my arm like he understands and this is all perfectly normal and he knows all about it.

"Don't play with me, you know it wasn't real, I'm just insane! Don't play along to make me shut up, I know it wasn't real!"

"Alright, calm down. You're not mad. I see things all the time."

"Like what?"

"Like... sometimes I'm positive that I've got another chocolate mint but it turns out that I've already eaten it."

"That's not the fucking same!"

"It could be. I just really like chocolate mints. My life revolves around them and they're very important to me. Imagine my devastation when that happens. And, you know, I hear things. Between us we'd make a really good psychic."

I laugh but it sounds thick with saliva.

"I'm glad it wasn't real. It wasn't like you at all and it was really, _really_ shit. Premature ejaculation and everything, and I don't think that you felt anything at all. You might as well have been washing dishes or something. And then you left, so I went to find you and you were eating Stephen's face."

"Hey, I never eat his face and rule number one is that you're not to mention him. Stick to the fucking rules or I'm going. Oh God, your nose."

"Is it broken?" I ask as I pinch it tentatively. I don't think so, it's just split on the bridge. It happens to us all. "So that's what it was then. You weren't with me."

"Is it broken?"

"My nose? No, I don't think so."

"Good. Go to sleep now."

"No," I say and shake my head stupidly as I grip him tighter. He's smiling as he speaks, I can tell without looking at him because it always shows through his voice.

"Light, you never could stay awake and you definitely won't with your head the way it is."

"You'll leave."

"I won't."

"Promise."

"Pinky swear," he says, crooking his finger and laughing. I just take his hand. I have no choice but to trust him. It's silent for a few minutes, and I can almost hear the lake outside and the wind pushing through the trees. Nothing is ever truly silent. When I speak again, I'm so quiet that it's like I'm frightened of ruining something. I don't realise that I'm talking at first and there's barely anything behind it, just words carried on short breaths. I'm just a listener too and I am tired. I sleep for four hours a night and now I'm going mad.

"I fucked up, L. You have to let me back in. If I knew that it was the only way, then I'd do it. I'd get rid of everyone. But what if you didn't come back? What if you do want to destroy me? It would have all been for nothing."

"I don't want to destroy you. But I'll tell you now, Light; anything you did wouldn't make me change my mind. Just carry on the way you are. You're important now, and you'll find someone else. But when you do, you _should_ leave everything for them."

"But there is no one else."

* * *

The next thing I know is the clean scent of cotton and an uncomfortable, tight pressure against my face. There's a low rumble of car engines outside and I open my eyes immediately, drag myself up and stumble towards the door. The grey daylight hits me and I blink to clear my vision like it's an overexposed photograph. What a massive prick he is.

Stephen is just closing my car door in the driveway. He sees me and approaches with his head hanging as he turns something over in his hands. He stops below the step in front of me and my hand tightens around the edge of the door.

"I'm just bringing your car back," he tells me, holding out my keys. His voice is cold.

_He's_ bringing it back? I peer around him to see someone in L's car a little way away. He has the engine running. He couldn't even see me himself – he got Stephen to do it. I can imagine the conversation. Stephen saying: 'You wait in the car.' I can just see L's headless white shirt as the rest blurs into the dark interior. Stephen is still holding the keys when I look back at him.

"Arnica," he says.

"What?" I snap at him. My face aches as it twists.

"Arnica. For your face. Helps with bruises. Don't put it on the cut though," he says in his dull voice. He drops the keys at my feet and walks to L's car and gets in the passenger seat. The light comes on inside and I can see L's hand move on the steering wheel and the outline of his head behind Stephen's as he turns the car. There's the sad sound of gravel crushing against each other, then he's gone.


	14. Make The Yuletide Gay

**A/N **I COULD NOT RESIST THE CHAPTER TITLE I'M SO SORRY! I love the song and yeah. Made me laugh.

Present! Bare bones dialogue and not important to the plot and probably boring Christmas presents! For the sake of clarity, there's a lot of switching between languages and I probably haven't always made that completely clear because it's constant, this thing is repetitive enough and Advocaat is not a friend of mine at this moment in time. Basically, when someone speaks directly to Light, then it's in Japanese, otherwise it's mostly in English.

Shout out to thebarstool with the knives and_ Lust, Caution. _Please skip Light's summary of _Lust, Caution_ at the end if you haven't read it or seen the film and go and do those things instead. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and peace, joy, love, shiny things and all good stuff.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Make The Yuletide Gay**

* * *

Kiyomi has organised a Christmas party. For a time, I think that she's invited everyone we don't know instead of people we do know, until her mother turns up looking like a well-roasted parsnip. Then my family turn up, but I have to stand at the door bowing until my back aches and my face aches and I can't take any more and Kiyomi wants to sit down. It turns into more of an open door party with armed guards outside, an non-invasive body search (otherwise no one would get in) and no welcome.

Kiyomi's invited Stephen because Stephen is Kiyomi's friend, he's not mine. He did bring L though, so that's something, but he's wearing a navy suit. I despise him in that suit and he knows it, so I think that I can understand his thought process there. The least he could have done was to drag out the Dior for me, but no. He's clearly not sorry even though I was more than willing to forgive the fact that he beat me up, lied and stole my car a few weeks ago. I found out his new phone number after a lot of digging, and he wouldn't answer me. I stopped trying in the end.

They've brought another man with them and he and L look almost connected at the hip as they mutter silently to each other while wearing the same uninterested expression. At first, I think that the man must be his brother (because they look similar in a wildly unfair genetic way in which L got all the good stuff and bled the pool dry, leaving little for any siblings to work with), but I don't think that L would be anywhere near either of his brothers if he could help it. I remember him saying that they accounted for eighty-six percent of the reasons why he decided to emigrate. I decide then that he must have picked up another one-nighter just to flaunt his promiscuity in my face by making himself some Daddy Warbucks for strays and make me feel that I am literally the last person he would have anything to do with. They stay close while L talks to Kiyomi some way away and introduces the stranger, but he ignores me.

Then Kiyomi notices Naomi, Naomi notices Kiyomi and they run towards each other like a gold rush in almost matching dresses. No one asks where Jeevas is because no one cares. They make excited noises and hug repeatedly and I watch L take his coat off. He never did give me my coat back. Or my shirt. I imagine that they're in a charity shop in London. The coat's probably shrunken, creased and felted from a washing machine, and is being sold as a child's blanket.

"It's so nice to see you!" Kiyomi and Naomi shriek at the same time.

"Have you been Christmas shopping?" Kiyomi asks, calming down abruptly. She's probably seen Naomi placing the bags of presents by the door as she came in. At least one of those presents will be for her, and Kiyomi loves presents. Naomi is also renowned for her generosity.

"Yeah!"

"OOOOOH!" they both scream again.

"Fucking hell," L sighs, taking his phone out of his pocket. Stephen catches my attention when he smiles (because his smile is alarming) and observes my wife and Naomi bob up and down on their heels. His hair, the same colour as L's, droops. The man needs a haircut and a personality transplant. My mother walks behind me and rubs a quick circle into my back as she passes by because she doesn't want to interrupt a generational conference. Yes, I'm very lonely here. She knows.

"Stephen and L took me shopping with them the other day," Naomi tells Kiyomi. "I had to get Matt some game thing with controls and a steering wheel. Did you know that they charge for gift wrapping now?" She notices Stephen and L and whoever it is they've brought with them and screams: "Stephen!" in a shrill voice. Stephen continues to smile, because he hasn't stopped since he got here, and takes her into a hug normally seen between footballers when one of them scores a goal.

"Darling!" she says to L, attempting to do the same to him, but he stops her, putting up an invisible force field of antipathy.

"Naomi, all that might work on Stephen but it's wasted on me. I have no vacancy for a female to adopt so we can go shopping and discuss vajazzles. Thank you."

That's it. I'm talking to L and I don't care who's with him. He's everyone's friend but mine now and it's not fucking fair. He should apologise to me and he probably wants to. I should give him the opportunity and be gracious and show him that he didn't do any lasting damage to my face.

I'm making my way over to him when Stephen tries to talk to me instead. He's oddly pleasant considering the last time we met, and I swiftly come to the conclusion that L hasn't told him that he loves me and that we're just going through a rough patch which involves impacting my face with his fist. A huge lie has been told and Stephen has taken it hook, line and sinker. He tells me that he's recently resigned from the CIA and he doesn't have to tell me why. He encourages L to join in by holding his wrist and pulling him over gently, even though he can't honestly think that anyone else _but_ L was responsible for the pummeling my face suffered that night. I think to myself as his mouth opens and slaps shut when he talks: 'You really do have the learning ability of a gamete, don't you?' To me, it's perfectly obvious that L and I aren't talking and why we're not talking, but it can't be as obvious to other people. Stephen keeps asking L's opinion in an equally gentle, vague way. A way which allows L to look at the ceiling instead of answering without appearing too rude. I reply with one word, cold answers to every question Stephen has, and at long last the small talk is over as Kiyomi grabs him to show him the her shoes. L and his friend stand in silence, looking as entertained as you would expect to be in a matchstick museum.

"I've never seen you looking so bored," I say to L. His brow furrows from my tenacity to even dare to speak to him when I wouldn't have been surprised if he cried and dropped to his knees to kiss the hem of my jacket. I smile, and his frown evens out into something like awe. He's still in love with my face, that much is clear. He made a mess of it but white blood cells will out. I give him a view of my profile and, lo and behold, he speaks.

"I haven't _been_ this bored since you turned up drunk and preached to me about the flaws of the dairy industry," he replies. At this point I want to resume our last conversation at the moment where he was kissing me and my hand was down his trousers before I started shouting hysterically, but Stephen returns and I have no idea what he's trying to do to L's back.

"How are you enjoying your time off?" Stephen asks me. Bland, bland, bland.

"How are you enjoying being unemployed?"

"Hey," L grunts out in warning. I think he might launch at me and I'd like that very much. I think that I'd enjoy that a bit too much, but he doesn't do it in any case. I shrug, because we're in the Kantei and surrounded by people.

"It's a valid question."

"I have some savings," Stephen explains, like I care. "It's just like an extended... word?" he ponders and looks to L while clicking his fingers.

"Penis?" L suggests.

"No. Vacation. That's it. It went right out of my head because of all this crazy spending and lights and, Jesus, look at that!" he says, pointing towards the Kantei Christmas tree which looms over us all. I'm really not sure how he hasn't noticed it before, so I'm now absolutely convinced that he's simple. L turns to his friend briefly to try and explain in the most slow, snaky, carnal, privileged, upper-class sounding English he can manage, why Stephen likes Christmas trees. He eyes up his idiot as he speaks, and I want to punch him in the bollocks.

"He's American. He has vacations. He's also a consumerist and buys into all this shit."

Stephen seems to appreciate this reasonably offensive statement, or at least likes the way in which it was delivered, and squares up to my L like he's in a Lynx deodorant advert. He more or less growls at him and then they 'mmmm' at each other and rub miscellaneous body parts together and WHY DON'T THEY JUST HAVE SEX RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FOYER? It's the most repulsive thing I've ever seen. Even L's friend looks sickened. Either they have to stop or I'm going to get slaughtered on overpriced alcohol.

"Oh God. Kiyomi, where's that bottle of cognac?" I call out in desperation. She walks over, observing the horror in front of me and rubs my chest with her manicured hand, which is no consolation.

"Light's allergic to public displays of affection," she explains. I'm waiting for the 'and he has a headache' but surprisingly it doesn't come.

"He's just allergic to affection," L mumbles and smiles into Stephen's face.

"Kiyomi, let's see your nails," Naomi says, turning up out of nowhere. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and tells me how smart I look, which is what my mother said to me on my first day at school. I wasn't going for smart. I was going for debonair, elegant, suave and 'do me'. Like James Bond with more sex appeal. This suit is obviously a complete failure.

"Oh! There are little Christmas things on them, look!" Kiyomi cries at the cuteness of her manicure as she shows it to Naomi. I am quietly mortified at her seasonality. "I thought it was a bit immature but it's been in all the papers."

"Awwwwww!"

"That's really pretty," Stephen says, pointing at Kiyomi's thumb. I bet he has every album Judy Garland ever recorded. "Is that Santa Claus going down a chimney?"

"Christ. I feel death is near. Did you say cognac or does that mean something else in Japanese?" the un-introduced friend of L asks me, in English. He looks slightly mad and windblown. Part of me wants to shout: 'Stranger danger!' and have him forcibly ejected.

"Cognac after coffee," Kiyomi advises us all, again, in English. Apart from Naomi, I am now the only person who doesn't speak English with any degree of certainty because my school was apparently shit. "Light, you have to go away now. I want to tell Naomi about your present. Wait by the door."

"I can't wait by the door, Kiyomi, I'm the Prime fucking Minister. People will think it's a meet and greet."

"It _is_ a meet and greet. Greet some more people."

"No."

"Ok, we'll have to go then. Stay with Lawliet and Stephen," she says, walking away with Naomi.

"I'll wait by the door," I grumble.

"Fine by us. Bah! Humbug!" L says. I'm going to stay with Lawliet and Stephen. They don't seem to care either way and I'm not even a third wheel so much as a flat tyre in the boot of the car. Stephen shouts: "Shirts!" suddenly and L steps away from him. I think that's a good enough reason to call in the guards and have Stephen shot.

"Shirts?" L repeats after him.

"I'll get shirts for my dad."

"That's not very inventive. You've missed the last post anyway. You might as well just get him book vouchers if you're being that exciting. Get him... a planisphere. Dads like planispheres."

"You're so good at this!"

"I was a personal shopper in a past life. Are you still here, Prime Minister?" L asks me. "Well, since you are, here's your present. And here's Kiyomi's. Have a Happy Christmas, if you can."

"Yours is in my office," I say, stunned into a quiet voice as he dumps two shop-assistant-wrapped small boxes in my hands. Jewellery, I think. Jewellery for Kiyomi and a suicide pill presentation case for me.

"We really weren't expecting one, were we Stephen?" he confesses blithely. Stephen is equally blithe. Stephen hasn't got a present from me so he'd be right not to expect one.

"Thanks, Prime Minister," he grins. God. Not long ago he was semi-intelligent and figured out that L is very familiar with my arse, but he seems to have forgotten that. "You and Kiyomi should come over sometime. I'll make dinner."

"He's too busy for that," L tells him.

"Nobody's too busy for my beef bourguignon."

I feel that I have to remind L that he doesn't like beef bourguignon. He always orders it but he never eats it. To be honest, I think that he only orders main courses to be social and to look well-bred.

"You don't like beef bourguignon."

"I've changed my mind. The boy does a good bourguignon, what can I say?"

"Frank Sinatra!" Stephen shouts randomly. I think he's malfunctioning.

"Pardon?" L asks.

"The song," he explains, pointing at the ceiling like that's where Frank Sinatra is.

"Oh. Yes."

"It's my parents' favourite song. How about that being played. It's not even a Christmas song."

"Bizarre. Stephen?"

"Yeah?"

"You need to calm down. Just a _little_ bit."

"Are you kidding? It's –"

"What's my present?" I ask L to interrupt the madness. He looks at me with the majestic superiority of a peacock but he can't compete with my posture.

"You can open it now if you want" he says gruffly. "It's nothing special."

"No! He can't open it now!" Stephen gasps.

"How old are you again?" L asks him. "I thought you told me that you were thirty-two but you sound about twelve. Am I going to be sued for the rape of a minor by your parents one day?" He turns back to me and his gruffness. "They're cufflinks, Prime Minister," he tells me, and Stephen breathes out a massive sigh.

"Jesus, L. You've ruined it now."

"I'm sorry for ruining your Christmas, Prime Minister."

"That's... really thoughtful," I say, looking at the unwrapped box.

"It isn't. I love ruining Christmas. I just thought: 'What do you buy a Prime Minister?' And then I thought, 'Oh. Cufflinks.' Easy. You like useless things like that."

"Yeah. I do like useless things like that, don't I."

"God, don't get depressed."

"You shouldn't have told him," Stephen whispers.

"Well I didn't think that he'd go all Sylvia Plath."

"I'm not depressed. I was just thinking. Thanks," I dip my head as I put the boxes in my pocket. L takes up looking at the gaudy Christmas tree while he talks.

"But they have a twist. I almost kept them myself."

"Why?"

"You'll see. Stephen, find B. Don't let him play with his hypodermic again. Oh, B!" he says happily and waves. That weird man is B? In my house?! L's only friend and a completely mad bastard! I didn't even notice that he'd left but he seems to have found and opened the cognac.

"What the very fuck are all these people doing here?" he asks L, in English, once again. I suppose that I should get used to this. I'm just glad that I can understand it better now even if I can't wrap my tongue around it perfectly, and I'm not speaking until I can pronounce things properly.

"I told you it was a bad idea," L mumbles to Stephen reproachfully.

"It's a party!" Stephen smiles at B. I think he's scared of him judging by the way he stands slightly behind L.

"But why have you brought me here?"

"Because I can't leave you alone, you gorgeous deviant," L tells him. What on earth is this?

"I fucking hate people," he informs us all. He then points at Stephen, whose eyes widen at the direct confrontation. "You! Why would you do this to me? We've only just met! You're jealous of me, aren't you? All jealousy has roots in the concept of sexual intimidation and betrayal, so -"

"Drink your cognac, B," L says. "And have a ritalin."

"What the... Fuck! There are _small_ people here!" He's right. There's a child here and that's not what Kiyomi and I discussed. There are very expensive things just asking to be knocked over by a manic five-year-old at nine o'clock at night. B presses a hand to each side of his face and does a fine impression of Munch's _The Scream_. "Get rid of it!"

"Stephen, do something," L demands.

"Like what?"

"Lock it in a cupboard and get me a drink. Please," he adds as an afterthought. "Thank you love you bye."

Stephen wanders off like a servant, which makes this situation much more bearable, despite being ignored. I realise that I'm just standing there watching people talk without being included in any way, so I turn around so I can still listen without looking quite as desperate. I now look haughty, I hope, if anything.

"It's ok. I have some valium in my pocket," B says. "What do you think of _him_?"

"Who?" L asks.

"Him."

"Ok, I suppose. If you like that sort of thing."

"He's _your_ sort of thing. Isn't his name Light?" he whispers mischievously. I'll pretend that I didn't hear.

"Elephants never forget and neither do you."

"Don't tell me that you're still angry with him for leaving you for his missus and as a result you've developed a one-sided relational dependency. Are you having unrealistic fantasies about your relationship and experiencing obsessive, controlling behaviours? This overwhelming desire to possess him shows an inability to accept failure or rejection and requires psychiatric help before you go into stage three. Desire can never be satisfied, that is a fact. It can only strive, mutate and multiply. Would you say that you have tunnel vision and that you can't stop thinking about him, requiring his constant attention? This would all explain your extreme control tactics over the years, including questioning his commitment with the goal of manipulating him into providing more attention. Do you recognise that your anger, rage and desire to seek revenge against him for breaking off the relationship is due to your destructive behaviours manifesting, and have you noticed that you might be using drugs, alcohol, food and sex in an attempt to heal your emotional pain?"

"Erm. No," L replies. I'm not entirely sure I caught any of that. I've never heard anyone speak so quickly without taking a breath in my life.

"Oh. But you are upset that he dumped you."

"Au contraire, my friend. He did not dump me," L laughs smugly. "You haven't heard the latest."

"L, Stephen's -"

"I know he's a really nice guy and loves me what a keeper I'm so lucky can't believe my luck one in a million yeah."

"As long as you know. Now tell Doctor B _all_ about it."

"He's gone all stalker town on me."

"Really?"

"Yes. Your diagnosis was right, Doctor."

"Well, I did tell you. Malignant narcissism is a very difficult condition but it's pretty hot. I mean that they're like Scorpios, not that I believe in that shit, but blind egotism is... _damn_, it's so attractive. It's one of my favourites, actually. Erich Fromm described it as the quintessence of evil and –"

"How did I know that you'd be right for the first time in your career?" L interrupts him. I'm losing the thread entirely but I still think they're talking about me. "I'm sure you've noticed that he _is_ very attractive and has the charisma of the hypothetical son of a young Marlon Brando and James Dean in wet leather, _but_ Japanese, which only helps matters. I didn't pick him for any old reason. I just felt like I was constantly pinned to a bed whenever he spoke to me. I found myself able to overlook a lot of psychotic episodes because of it."

"Sex is traumatic. For you it's become an obsession and you should seek treatment. I'll write you a note and you can come and stay with me and we'll go to Disneyland Paris on a rainy day. I think a spin in the teacups would help you. What kind of psychotic –"

"Oh, I fully endorsed them, don't worry. But now, while entertaining, it's annoying."

"And he's Prime Minister?"

"He is indeed. Sometimes I look at him and think: 'I did that. Fuck me, I'm good.' Most of the time though I look at him and want to throw something at him and get a restraining order. He's proven to be very disappointing. He's planning to rejig the justice system without me knowing, even though he knows nothing about it apart from what he's read in _Law for Dummies_. Going right over my head with it, the bastard. Didn't even ask my opinion. He's doing that a lot lately. You should hear about this tax shit he's –"

"No, no, no taxes. I hate taxes. Hmmm... Baby boy, distract me with something pretty. I want to talk to the pretty."

"Pretty? Oh! Prime Minister?" L says loudly, in Japanese, and I think that I can turn around at this point as long as I can control the way my face is itching to collapse in on itself. "This is my friend, B. He's on a flying visit on his way to Sydney. You don't have to say anything; just stand there, he'll be fine. I have to dispose of a child. Distract him."

I don't particularly want to be left alone with someone who looks like he's escaped from Death Row and keeps pharmaceuticals in tubes of Smarties. He peers right into my eyes and is invading my personal space to a worrying degree. I call for L, but thankfully he hasn't gone very far. He asks Stephen if he's 'disposed of the child' as they walk back together.

"I don't know who she belongs to," Stephen tells him, but L doesn't see the problem there.

"Just throw it on the fire then."

"So you're Light?" B asks me in English, not even a pen's length away from my face. His jaw hangs open after he speaks, and if someone told me that he was an android, I wouldn't be in the least surprised. "It's ok, I understand everything now."

"I did tell you. The Prime Minister has heard a lot about you and your theories," L says, propping his head on B's shoulder to peer at me also. B's face is an almost perfect heart shape due to a probably unintentional centre-parting in his hair. I have so much sympathy for animals at the circus now. B's back arches with L behind him, like a cat being ineffectually fucked, and I'm very frightened, I admit. That cannot and will not show.

"Pleased to meet you, B," I say cheerfully, offering my hand out to him. He doesn't take it.

"Prime Minister."

"Call me Light, please."

"He told you to call him by his first name. That's first base, I know that from experience. He's working on you, B," L whispers to him. "Where's Kiyomi?" he then says loudly, looking around the room.

"Kiyomi's the wife, right?" B asks him, turning his face slightly toward's L's while continuing to stare at me. L pats him on the head.

"Gold star for you."

"So, Light. Can you improve on the silence? Because I like silence."

Being asked in English means that I can't be seen to understand what he's saying, so I try to look vacant while L plants a kiss on B's cheek and beams at him.

"I love you, you crazy bastard," he says. Right, that's not on. Now he _loves_ everyone but me. I must fix this.

"L, can we talk?"

"Not right now, thank you," he tells me. "It's a public holiday where I come from. B, B, B, I'm so glad you're here!"

"So am I, L. Three times," B replies, refusing to look away from me.

"Should I be worried?" Stephen asks. I forgot that he's been observing this for the past minute or so. L turns his head to look at him with a concerned expression.

"About what?"

"You two are like a reunited love across the ages. I'm worried."

L then completely disengages from B to speak to Stephen in a breathy voice. "Oh, my American. Throw me down."

I'm sure he's on drugs, including viagra, but I'm also sure that he's loving being in such a dominating position, since he's surrounded by three people who adore him and he wants to exploit it. All to get back at me, of course. Naomi arrives and stands next to Stephen, her face soft with bitter contentment as she gazes at the foreplay in front of her.

"You're so cute together," she coos at them. No, Naomi, not you too.

"We are most definitely not cute apart or together," L states. "What is wrong with you?"

"I just like to see people happy."

Stephen hugs Naomi and L loses interest in him as a result. I smile, B sees it and his eyes only grow larger with focus. Naomi takes Stephen away again (I always did like her), saying that she has to introduce him to someone, but I'm not in a position to enjoy the moment since B has not blinked for five minutes.

"Let's not allow language to separate us," B tells me in low English before swapping to what I think might be considered Japanese if you'd never heard it before. "How is... what's the word?"

"Life?" L says, before reverting back to English for his benefit. "God, you forget the most common words."

I don't think I can stand this to-ing and fro-ing between languages, but any word of Japanese out of L's mouth is an absolute joy. I still revel in the thought that I have managed to understand, I think, well above half of what's been said between them, and that L has no idea.

"Well, I was going for a more sexual term but 'life' covers everything," B accepts.

"B wants to know how your life is, Prime Minister," L asks me, acting as a translator.

"Fine, thank you," I reply.

"You're disturbing him, B. Look at that face."

"Yes."

"He's worried that he's disturbing you, Prime Minister," L tells me.

"You're not disturbing me, B," I assure him while glaring at L, who glares right back.

"He says that you're not disturbing him. He's so insincere," he says to B, who nods slowly while he stares at me. I don't know much about psychoanalysis sessions, but I'm fairly sure that this is not the normal way to go about it.

"He is quite something."

"He is. Was. Is."

"He reminds me of what's his face."

"He's like no one else," L breathes out dreamily. His glare becomes softer and I feel myself smile weakly at him, which unfortunately shakes him out of himself so he can go right back to glaring.

"L," B scolds him.

"I can say that."

"You can. It's good that you're being so open. I think we're making progress."

"I'm not on your couch. You'll get your jotting pad out and I just can't cope with that right now."

"If you had a therapist, I'd feel much better."

"Oh, please, stop."

"B," I say politely, "your Japanese is very good."

"He says that your Japanese is very good, the lying patronising dickhead bastard sod fucking twat," L informs him before, once again, talking in my language. "It's ok now, Prime Minister. We're done with you." He grabs B by the collar and attempts to drag him away from me, only to be shrugged off and reprimanded in an overly violent way which doesn't seem to bother him but bothers everyone else around us.

"Shut up, you brutal force of nature and let me speak to the pretty malignant narcissist," B shouts at him, only to turn back to me, instantly calm again, to speak in the worst Japanese I've ever heard. "Thank you. I can't. L taught me. Only a little."

"His attention span is lacking," L tells me. At that moment, Stephen runs towards us in some kind of panic and with his miserable shoes slapping against my marble tiles.

"L, save me."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Naomi has introduced me to a man."

"That was always a possibility. And?"

"I think he thinks we're on a date now."

"Ha. Well, don't disappoint him. Show him a good time. Rock the casbah."

"Just come over and slip into the conversation that you're my..."

"What? Man who puts the 'Law' in Lawliet?"

"No."

"We're stuck on terms, B," L calls over to his mad friend. "Boyfriend sounds ridiculous when you're over thirty. It just sounds ridiculous."

"It does, yes," B nods slowly. I almost feel myself nodding with him as he holds me in his terrifying stare. I tear my eyes away to look at something else, and L happens to be right there.

"Manfriend sounds worse. Too forced," he says to no one in particular, though he is facing Stephen. So, no. No one in particular.

"Partner," Stephen suggests, stupidly grinning.

"He'll think that we're business associates. You tell him. Say that you're very sorry but you're firmly heterosexual. You're just living with a man who prosecutes people and you're too frightened to tell me the truth. That should scare him off. Who is he anyway? I don't know half these people. Oh!" he says when Stephen points quickly at someone or other. "I understand your concern now. He's been in the papers for no reason, I know him. He's a big man in real life, isn't he? Ok, change of plan. The only way you'll get out of this is by being extremely camp. Point to me if you like and I'll do some tap-dancing and jazz hands. If I go over, he'll think that we're offering ourselves up for a threesome."

"L, please."

"I'm most definitely not up for that, Stephen. I'm very tired."

"Just come over to say hello to him and then do something to me, so he knows.

"Subtle. No. I'd like to see how you deal with this situation. Off you go," L laughs, slapping Stephen on the arse like a mustang. I am horrified by this, even more so when B lets out a high-pitched noise. I look back at him and his face has slackened into the kind of mask you'd see at Halloween. He pinches a few strands of my hair and pulls them sharply out of my scalp, puts them in his pocket book and walks away with no explanation. I don't know how to react, so I turn around again. I feel dazed and strangely empty, like he's been looking at me my whole life and nothing will be the same again. The world is new to me. I think it must be some kind of post-traumatic stress.

"You're heartless," he says to L after a swig of cognac, and is relatively normal-looking again.

"I know," L sighs as they watch Stephen lump away. "Bless him, look at him. Stephen. He's so worried about upsetting someone."

"He's very nice. You've done well."

"Well thank fuck for that. I live for your acceptance."

"You never told me what happened to that bloke you met when you arrived here."

"Toshio? It didn't work out. I got distracted."

"I can see why. But didn't he work for a paper over here?"

"Light? No."

"Hmm?" I sound out as I twist my head in their direction, because that would be the normal reaction for someone who didn't understand anything apart from their own name.

"Nothing. Ignore us," L tells me dismissively and goes back to B. "His English is ropey in the extreme, so we're safe. Toshio worked for _The Times_, yes. He had to give it up because his thumbs were double-jointed. He introduced me to the editor so I got my foot in that door and my thumb in that pie or however you'd like to say it, but he's a children's entertainer now so he's no use to me."

"I'm always suspicious of children's entertainers."

"You're suspicious of everyone."

"And with good reason."

"Yeah. So, a children's entertainer. What a fucking joke, eh? I mean, I could balance a beach ball on my forehead and make a poodle out of a balloon but I'm far too busy."

"I saw a journalist for a while."

"When was this? You didn't tell me!" L says, outraged.

"You know. You met him in London a few years ago. He was a patient of mine, which made it strange when he paid me after every session."

"Isn't there a work ethic against that sort of thing, or are you taking up a new form of psychiatric analysis with the emphasis on the anal?"

"Shut up. I'm a professional, damn it. He always was awful. No wonder his mother tried to lose him in a Spanish market when he was nine. He had deep and troubling issues about it that I couldn't help him with because they were so uninteresting, so we parted ways."

"What was his name again?"

"Dave."

"Oh."

"So common."

"Dave is the name given to children by parents who sleep in separate beds. That's what I used to tell David."

"Poor David," B exhales. "But _Dave's_ mother was always nice to me. Kept saying that she had to feed me up and apologised about everything, even if it wasn't her fault. No money, but she had lovely cold hands for pastry. Still, when someone chain smokes Camel full strength and smells of Clearasil, it doesn't make you want to sample their cream puffs. She used to turn the TV off when charity fundraising adverts came on or she'd say: 'Change the channel, love. I feel terrible for those children but I can't stand their snotty noses.'"

"Ha! Excellent. I've missed you," L tells him meaningfully. I die inside. I think of broom cupboards at weddings and take two glasses of I don't care what from one of the waiters.

"I've missed you," B replies.

"Kiss me, you brute."

"What?"

I spin around as a reflex and then don't know what to do as they both look at me. "I'm sorry, do either of you want a prawn cracker?" I ask. "No? Ok." I nod and turn back around.

"I'm worried about him," L says. "So, have you seen Jack lately?"

"I saw him in London catching a train. We didn't speak. He was with a badly dressed woman and he looked furious."

"I liked him. Such a shame that he was straight. Lovely nose. Very aquiline."

"Equine more like. He had a wash and set last time I saw him. Like a quiff, but curled."

"You're breaking my heart here."

"He's never been the same since he found God in Denmark," B says, and gargles on something.

"He didn't, did he?"

"At least he found something. I hate Agnostics. I don't think that people who sit on fences should be rewarded for their laziness and I doubt that God, if there is a God, which there isn't, but if there is, will reward them for being unsure. Anyway, he has a chimney sweeping business now."

"I wouldn't let a man who found God in Denmark put his hands up my floo. I don't feel so bad now. Speaking of hair, have you dyed yours?"

"Maybe a little bit. I found a grey hair and it had to go."

"Oh, the slippery slope."

"It's alright for you. You look the same as you did ten years ago. You're one of those cocklodgers who doesn't age."

"I'm sorry. Well, your hair looks very natural."

"You noticed that it was dyed so it can't look that natural. Stop trying to flatter me, L. It's pointless."

"I wasn't. I was just saying. Oh, hold on, Stephen's back. How did it go?"

"I don't know if I handled it very well," Stephen says.

"Never mind," L replies sympathetically, and Stephen perks up enough to ask B another brainless question because he's King of Uninteresting Smalltalk.

"So, B, how was the flight?"

"Awful. A bloke in the seat next to me was drinking something from a brown bag and sniffing a bottle of Copydex and I thought: 'This is how episodes of ER used to start.'"

"That's why you should let go of your moral principles and always take business class," L tells him, and he's so very right. "Is your mum ok, by the way?"

"I think so. It's hard to tell since she had that stroke. She always asks about you, which only deepens my feelings of jealousy and resentment towards you since my depressive tendencies lean towards feeling like shit. Especially since my mother always loved you and kept telling me, and still does, that I should try to be more like you."

"Don't be like me, B. I'm not all I'm cracked up to be."

"I know that. It's not like I haven't tried to tell her that you're an immoral manwhore. It doesn't make any difference."

"B!" L shouts and then speaks soothingly. "Stephen, I'm not a manwhore. I'm completely reformed and clean as a whistle. Could you get me another glass of wine, please?" Stephen walks past me and, when he's far enough way, L shouts at B. "Are you trying to ruin my last chance at a meaningful relationship and decent life? I'm not a manwhore. I'm... I just don't like being alone," he finishes sadly. No, he doesn't. He hates being left with himself.

"I know," B tells him happily. "I worked you out long ago. Thing is, you'll never find who you're looking for, because effectively you're looking for two people – someone to love you and someone to hate you. A reason to live and a reason to die." L makes an unimpressed sound like a leaking gas valve but B carries on regardless. "Love is what you want but hate is what you think you deserve, and you'll never shift that now. You just like complicating things. I think I can guess which of those things _he_ was."

"He was kind sometimes. Particularly towards the end," L says, sounding broken. I want to drag him away and tell him that I love him _and_ hate him and I'm still kind and I'll never hurt him again and I even love him when he's in navy, but he carries on talking. "I really... But I feel strange talking about him while he's standing right in front of me, even if he can't hear me. Another broken heart. I don't know why I bother really. Sometimes I think that I might as well lock myself in a room, wear the same clothes day after day and hire some old man to feed me tea and cake. In fact, I don't want to talk about it at all. Back to your mother."

"Avoidance. One of your worst qualities," B mutters.

"Yes, yes, is your mother still diabetic?"

"That sort of thing doesn't just go away. The last time I visited, there was a terrible whiff of pear drops."

"You can't deprive a woman of her pear drops."

"I'll tell her that when she gets her legs amputated. I suppose it's too late to try to show her the evil of pear drops. She tried to hide the sugar bowl under the radiator, but I saw it alright. I sat down and she was looking at me strangely, like this, you know. I thought it was my hair or her conjunctivitis acting up again because it flares up in bad weather, but then I realised that it was the chair."

"Errrr..."

"It was Dad's chair. I was sitting in my dad's chair and I didn't realise. She still has his peptobismol on the table next to it. So she was staring at me and all I could think was: 'I'm sitting in Dad's chair.' The armrest was stained by his last cup of tea. It was quite poignant. She hates the Prime Minister. That's all she talked about."

"Are you talking to me?" I ask. That's my cue again.

"Not you, Prime Minister" L tells me grumpily and B waves. I turn around again. "Those must be two words of English that he recognises. Typical."

"She doesn't know who he is. I'd be surprised if she knew Japan had a Prime Minister. She probably thinks they're still running around dressed as Samurai. She hates Britain's Prime Minister. She said..." and he breaks off to laugh. It's a mad laugh, like a wild animal, a creaking door and an opera singer mixed together. "She said: 'Big bloody lout. He might think that he's clever but where was he when they bombed Plymouth?' I pointed out that he wasn't even born when the Blitz was going on, and she said: 'Give me Churchill any day. You knew where you were with Churchill. This new fella has a look of a guinea fowl about him and his wife hasn't got the figure for a polo-neck.'"

"Jesus Christ. Your mother," L laughs. Stephen comes back with three glasses of wine crowded together between his hands and doesn't seem troubled that L's been described in complete seriousness as a manwhore by his own best friend.

"When did you meet, you two?" he asks.

"OH!"

"It was on the playing field at school," L says. "We were eleven. B was standing in the middle of it, crying over a dead blackbird."

"I wasn't crying."

"Like a really ugly baby."

"He thought that I was. It was love at first sight but, sadly, never consummated for some reason and we're getting a bit too old for that now. Well, I could tell you why, but I don't really have time. So, L, lovely L told me to pull myself together. 'Now we're in boarding school there's no time for these maudlin indulgences,' he said, and then he walked off and climbed over the school gates. I was like: 'I don't even know what maudlin means!' so I went home and looked it up in the dictionary. I didn't know what 'indulgences' were either, so I looked that up as well."

"You were wearing a reflective jerkin," L reflects. "I remember it well."

"Mum used to make me wear it and I suppose that I got used to it. It was like a comfort blanket for after five o'clock. Sometimes she'd kick everyone out of the house and tell us that we couldn't come back until it was dark because she had to fumigate the loft. She never did, she just wanted us out of the house so she could watch TV in peace."

"Yes, Stephen. In answer to your unasked question, he was a right idiot. After a few years playing hockey, you couldn't have stunned him with a brick, and that's the magnificent man you see before you now."

"I owe it all to hockey," B agrees.

"Do you remember Mr Jones? When he said double numbers like thirty-three, his false teeth would fall out."

"Are you with anyone right now, B?" Stephen asks, trying to crowbar his way into the conversation in the most boring way possible.

"Ha!" B laughs.

"Oh my God, imagine," L laughs also.

"No, not right now," B answers. "Still getting over my last go and I need at least a few months between relationships before my mind can even consider such a thing, but sometimes sheer sexual frustration forces me to act. Alone forever, that's me. Psychologically, I'm extremely well prepared for it."

"You could have had me," L tells him. "I can cope with knives in small doses."

"I didn't know that. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Anyone could have had me in those days."

"Oh."

"But no, and ruin the only constant and rewarding human connection I've ever had? No. I've also seen the way you carve up a turkey, so the knife thing would worry me. I thought that B was going to settle down with this bloke in France, but sadly it was not to be because B is an idiot."

"He got rid of his beard," B grumbles, like it's an explanation. Stephen doesn't like this at all.

"You split up because he got rid of his beard?"

"It could only be an improvement," L murmurs.

"I did, Stephen, yes. Oh, L, I forgot to tell you. You know why he had a beard? Terrible acne scars under it. He looked like that church in Whitby which was peppered with shrapnel during the war, remember?"

"Oh dear. The only thing I remember is that he couldn't make a cup of tea to save his life."

"No, I tried to teach him but he was just too French. You should always treat a teabag with dignity. That's what my mum always used to say. So no, it didn't work out. Nothing good is meant to last. People fail. It's inevitable that we'll all let down and be let down in the end. Misery, then death. Alone, as we were born."

"Isn't he a joy?" L asks. "When I meet, sorry, _met_ a man for the first time, I always think: 'Will this man look good in a fez?' and work from there. Fucking Bombay, will these people ever leave?" He sighs. I wonder whether I should do something about it. There are a lot of people and my mother keeps waving at me from the room where all the food and most of the people are. She says something to my dad and Sayu and Touta and then they all look at me. I'm sure they're all wondering why I don't join them. L's not there though, he's behind me, even if he is talking shit and making my mood fluctuate depending on what he says. I start on my fifth glass of wine of the evening.

"That's what happens at parties, L. People are there," Stephen speaks up. God, I wish he would go and play on a major highway.

"I know, but they're taking the piss now," L replies, and I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Prime Minister, don't you think it's time that you start throwing people out?" he asks me as he steps back from me to lean on Stephen.

"Could we –" I start, but he cuts me off quickly.

"They're very rowdy. You should think of your furniture," he tells me. This poor excuse for a party has only been going on for two hours but I couldn't care less if everyone else leaves or not.

"You can throw them out if you want."

"Brilliant. Stephen, turn the music off. That should get rid of them. And hide the alcohol. That'll definitely get rid of them."

Stephen is stupidly obedient, which might be the only half-good thing about him.

"So. Everything alright then?" B asks.

"Yes," L answers suspiciously.

"Just that you weren't very happy last time I saw you."

"I was very happy. My father had just died. It was jet lag."

"You wouldn't talk about Mr Pretty."

"There was nothing _to_ talk about."

"L."

"Really, B, there wasn't."

"I'm surprised that you're handling it so well. What I actually mean is that I'm unsurprised at your evasiveness."

"You can be very patronising sometimes, you know.'

"He doesn't seem as bad as you said. It's hard to make a proper assessment without talking to him though. He _seems_ nice."

"You mean that he looks nice."

"Can't deny that. It must be hard to be dumped for a woman though. If you need to talk about it later, I'm here. For one night only."

"I wasn't dumped. Bloody hell."

"You dumped him?"

"Well, my father died and I left, B. You know that."

"So it never officially ended? That is disastrous. Di–sas–ter."

"I think when one person leaves the country and you don't speak for seven months then that's the end. It drifted to a close. It ended on a bittersweet note even though I was such a... I could have acted better. I was my shitty self. We're barely talking and he assaults me in elevators, turns up at my house to kidnap me with only bad intentions and does other things besides, but that's another story. Apart from that, we're getting on very well."

"I have too many questions. I need my notepad," B says and there's a sound of rustling and a scuffle which ends in a smack. "How were you a shit to him?"

"I got drunk and I wasn't very nice."

"You're not a nice drunk. But if what you said was true, you have to leave him the hell alone. Leave, move away, never speak to him again. See, the thing I don't understand is that you did leave, but you went back, which takes _us_ back to my previous diagnosis of your condition."

"I don't like him anymore."

"Look, I distinctly remember us talking about this. We agreed that you are not to fall for any more undesirables, no matter how desirable they might be."

"I never have," L says moodily.

"Oh my God, you have. Do. Not. Lie. To. Me. I will make Christmas wreaths out of your entrails. You know I will."

"I haven't. No undesirables."

"You HAVE!"

"Shut up, B."

"Ok, now I know that you definitely have. Why can't you like good people instead of psychopaths?"

"I do like a good person."

"No, no, no, I know you. You'll go for the pretty maladjusted psychopath every time. Oooh! Could you fill out a form for me?"

"What? No!"

"It's just a few questions on a scale of one to five. It's for a journal."

"I am not filling out a questionnaire, B."

"It'll be very tastefully done. No names."

"What is this, a porno? Fuck off. As I say, thanks, but I'm fine and we're fine in a professional sense, at some point, possibly, probably not, but we'll have to be. I like it here. My job is brilliant, the Tokyo branch of the firm is our best earner and you should see my office here. Plus, he seemed sorry for how he's acted."

"Oh, you mean about Stephen."

"Not so much."

"Well, I find Mr PM very interesting, based purely on what you've told me. Now I've seen him and I still find him interesting. That's very unusual for me."

"I don't really want or need to discuss it. Thank you, but change the subject."

"That you feel that way means that you do need to discuss it with someone and, wow, I'm a psychologist. You're in luck."

"This is between me and him. I love you, but stop," L says.

A few seconds layer, he walks past me in the same direction that Stephen went, and then there doesn't seem much point me being here at all. I leave too, but go outside. I tell the bowing security guards at the door to go inside to start getting rid of people and I don't care how they do it or what Kiyomi says. They just need to leave. I stand in an alcove in the front of the building where I sometimes go to make phonecalls. It's sad that now Kiyomi knows and the guards know and everyone knows that I'm often here if I can't be found inside, but it doesn't really matter. After lighting a cigarette that I don't smoke, I just look at the cars parked in neat clusters further away in front of me where there's normally nothing but a big open space. I haven't been standing here long before I see L out of the corner of my eye walk up to me. I've been trying to fill in the blanks of what he said about me which I didn't understand, and it annoys me that I don't understand and the only thing stopping me is a barrier of language. I don't move or let on when he stops in front of me, but he looks worried underneath a pretence of icy normality.

"Hi."

"Hi," I reply.

"Do you mind if I stay for a minute to enjoy this lovely weather we're having?" he asks. It's pissing it down. We're sheltered here, but just a foot away from this spot, we'd be soaked. I smile slightly and he must take it that he's allowed to stay. "Enjoying your party?"

"No."

"I'd say that I'm surprised but –"

"I'm sorry about what happened," I say quickly. He obviously wasn't expecting it at any point, but particularly not within seconds of his arrival. I'm not being specific about what I'm sorry for, but hopefully it's enough.

"That makes two of us."

"I just wanted to talk, really. I don't know how it went wrong, but I'm sorry. Your suit really was to blame. It started it all. Elevatorgate."

"I apologise on behalf of my suit," he says quietly and breathes out a laugh through his nose. "Hey, can I cadge a smoke, Prime Minister?"

I offer him one but he refuses; he just wants to leach on mine because in his mind it doesn't count, which is fine. I feel crowded by him and the wall behind me, which is also fine, and watch clouds of smoke and breaths which are indistinguishable from each other, rise into the cold air. He leans back to blow smoke above him and loses his balance, taking a step back. My instant reaction is to grab his arm, and he laughs again. Everything is calm and easy and I have trouble believing that it couldn't be more different than it has been pretty solidly since, well, ever.

"Stressed?" I ask him.

"Some man said to me at the airport today, on account of my tangible distress at the prospect of this party: 'Every day above ground is a good day.' Unfortunately, he had a dead daughter so I couldn't correct him on this error."

"You shouldn't be miserable, L," I say, leaning back against the wall.

"I'm not, I'm simply being dramatic and enchanting. Naomi is clawing Stephen and keeps trying to set him up with someone who was described as a 'media personality' in the paper a few months ago, whatever that is. That's where Stephen is now, I think. He's terrified of him. Do you know him?"

"No. I hardly know anyone here. Kiyomi invited them."

"That's a shame. It's your party too," he says, and looks like he cares. "Who would you invite, if you could?"

"You," I say, and realise that I shouldn't have said that. I look away and he looks at the ground and drags on the cigarette again. Too much time has passed for it to be made anything but awkward now, but he tries his best.

"Just me? That's not really a party, Prime Min –"

"Call me by my name," I tell him, because all that is fucking annoying and I feel a pang in my chest every time he does it.

"Light," he says softly.

"Thank you."

"So!" he exclaims with a rush of life after another inappropriate stillness, and takes a leaf from Stephen's book of smalltalk. "Read any good books lately?"

"Um... Have you read _Lust, Caution_?"

"No, what's it about? Lust and caution, maybe? Or influences on political orientation?"

"The first one. Fiction."

"You actually read a book? My, my," he says, but I can tell that he's not mocking me for once.

"It was just a short story."

"It's still a story. Ruin it for me?"

"It's set during the Japanese occupation of China in World War Two. It's about a woman who has an affair with a Japanese collaborator, but it's because she's working for the resistance. She just wants him dead and it's all so she can infiltrate and be trusted by him so she can set him up. Thing is, just before he's about to be assassinated, she warns him so he can he escape before the resistance can kill him. You know what he does in return? He has the whole cell rounded up and kills them, including her. What was the point of that? What does that tell you?"

"That she was stupid?"

"No. It's that love makes you forget what's important, your purpose. It makes you forget what you'd set out to do in the first place. You lose your purpose. Your purpose becomes someone else." I feel and sound drowsy as I watch him. He looks away again and hums softly, and I'm not sure whether it's in acknowledgement or not. "B's watching," I tell him. I sense B's eyes on me and I don't even have to look to make sure. L looks towards the steps where B is probably standing in a pool of light seeping outside from the party.

"Oh, yes. So he is. Wave," he tells me. We both wave lazily towards B. He is on the step. "He's leaving tomorrow."

"I speak English, by the way."

He's obviously shocked and I feel some joy in it. I can tell he's reviewing everything that's been said and he's humiliated, angry and a lot of other things, as he should be.

"I disappoint you?" I ask. "I have a lot of issues with a lot of what you said, but you're disappointed in me?"

"I thought you'd try harder," he says, just to be vague and non-committal.

"With you?"

"It's rude to listen in on conversations," he says, looking away again. "Didn't your mother teach you that?"

"Say that I'm not too late."

"We're both too late, Light."

"You didn't have to come here."

"Stephen wanted to go and B wanted to meet you. I didn't get a say in it really."

"This hasn't been interesting for me so God knows what it's been like for you."

"I thought it might be interesting, but I have a strong suspicion that I've just ended up acting like a twat again. I had a drink before I left so I was prepped. Steel the nerves. Instant twat."

"I hope you didn't do that because of me."

"No. B's just... I love him but I've known him forever and it's like being confronted with yourself, you know? Sometimes I don't like myself much. But, when did you learn English? That's fucking quick, Light."

"I'm not fluent or anything. I thought it would be useful for foreign visits and stuff."

"It will be, I'm sure. Also, you can spy on them now."

"Hah. Yeah... L, you should have just told him."

"Who?"

"Stephen. You didn't tell him, did you?"

"One more person who knows? It's bad enough with B knowing. Stephen would probably just fuck off. Even if he didn't, it would do him no favours. And he wouldn't like me working for you if he knew. I like my job."

"So you'd lie instead. It's just easier, isn't it."

"Can we just be ok, please? This is not helping me, or you. I really hurt your face and I like your face, I do," he says, closing his eyes while he rubs his forehead. "I like you, like now, but sometimes you're a complete bastard and I want to punch you until there's nothing left. There's no need to dredge things up for the some flawed concept of honesty. As far as Stephen's concerned, we were friends and we fell out over work, such is the danger of working with friends when you have a difference of opinion."

"That's what I told Kiyomi too."

"An old excuse but a good one. Why not fall back on old standards. I told him that your family has rented that place you found since you were a baby. The lies just grow and grow. How did you explain what your, um. Your face?"

"I fell."

"I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't be if I was in your place.. So, they're all happily ignorant, what about us?"

"I just don't want to fight with you, Light. It's tiring. I don't see why, as two adults, that we can't do as we say we're doing."

"Be friends."

"Mmm."

"Why did you really come back?"

"My contract," he sighs like he's been telling me the same thing over and over again for decades but I keep forgetting.

"You know that there are no contracts between us. I've told you so many times."

"You say that. The last thing I needed was a breach of employment case that I couldn't argue against."

"You came back for me," I tell him, knowing that this is where it could all go sour. Our nice calm and quiet conversation could explode and I'll probably end up with stitches. These paving stones are pretty unforgiving.

"I might have, at first," he concedes finally and I want to hug him for it. "But it's not the reason I stayed. If we could be friends, I'd like that."

"But we really haven't ever been friends," I remind him again. I've never seen anyone who has the same ability to look so sad without crying. "How did you know?" I ask.

"Know what?"

"When I first met you at that inquiry, I didn't know. That day would have ended and I never would have thought of you again. I probably wouldn't even have remembered what you looked like after a few weeks, that's how little I thought of you. But you knew. You came to find me."

"Light –"

"So you did this. You're responsible. We're both responsible, but these things don't ease into friendship and the occasional coffee. I mean it, L."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't just stay away."

"Do you regret it?"

"In a way," he answers. His head hangs forwards as he drops the burned out cigarette to the ground.

"So do I."

"Did you mean what you said?" he asks. "About resigning and divorcing Kiyomi?" Now he's watching at his foot scrape the cigarette end into the step and I worry about how difficult this is for him. I thought that it was just me who found it difficult.

"For you? I don't know. I wasn't really thinking. I was saying what I thought you wanted to hear."

"Oh."

"But I understand you now. I understand all of this. This situation would be untenable for anyone. You came back and you've stayed for me. Stephen's your David the second. Someone who'll make you tea and you'll never argue and he'll tell you that he loves you to make up for all the people who should have but never did. And he'll make you a better person, or whatever you think. The person you want to be, maybe. I'm the person you won't allow yourself to be. I'm your truth. You want me to stay distant and never, ever tell you what you think you want to know, because then I won't fit in this role you've allocated for me. I frighten you and I always did because I can only be one thing or the other for you, you think. I'm not going to make you a better person, L, because I don't want you to change. I want you to stay exactly as you are. You'll never know if I loved you really or if I just said that, I won't tell you, and that's how I'll keep you. You want to chase me, always, because you know I'm something. One person couldn't be everything to you, could they? But you are to me. And that's all I'll give you for now."

"I really want to change, Light."

"I know. Keep your Stephen," I say, though I don't mean it. Stephen will be gone before the first leaves are back on the trees. "What did you say? What he doesn't know can't hurt him sort of thing? Keep your charades and I'll keep mine."

"It wouldn't be fair."

"Ha. What is?"

"It wouldn't be fair on him or Kiyomi and wouldn't be fair on us, even. It would go nowhere."

"Some things shouldn't be planned out and put into boxes. Let's just stop pretending to each other, at least. Since you're here, and we both know why you're here. And yeah, L, you really were right – I am shit at chasing and I won't win any awards for it. I just wanted you near me."

It's perfect then, because he's looking at me like he's starting to believe me and he doesn't argue, but of course, these moments never last long. If we don't break it then someone else does. Kiyomi calls me from the door and we both turn at the interruption.

"People are leaving, Light," she shouts. I lift my hand to her and she goes back inside after blessing B with a second of her time.

"Right. Good," I say.

"I better be going too then," L smiles, though he looks a little stunned like he's just woken up after being knocked out with a baseball bat. "Nice party."

"Liar. It was fucking awful," I laugh.

"Yeah."

I see someone walking towards us from my left, and it's B, slouching up with a look of concern and possible murder in his face. It's a conspiracy how everyone is trying to get in the way when it's not their fucking place. I turn back to L, who's still gazing at me like I'm the sky at night. But I can't tell what he's thinking at all.

"If I send you a message, will you answer me now?" I ask. He doesn't say anything for what seems like hours.

"Yes."

To hear him sound guilty and ashamed and desperate makes me want to tell him that he shouldn't feel like that. We should never feel like that. I step forward and put my hand on his shoulder so I can speak into his ear quickly like I used to, because B's nearly here and looking more suspicious by the second.

"I don't know if you're driving me mad or keeping me sane."

As I walk away, I nod to B, who's wearing his inquisition face, but there's a distance between him and L that he can't breach because I'm in the way, and I think he knows that now.

"How are you doing, kid?" I hear him ask L.


	15. Toast of A Town With Bad Etiquette

**Chapter Fifteen**

**You Were The Toast Of A Town With Bad Etiquette**

* * *

I remember the day after the night before. I drove home with one eye open and one eye swollen shut. I kept hitting the kerb as I drove and scuffed the rims of my tyres, but I only found out about that because someone told me a few days later. By the time I got home, it was late morning and I wore sunglasses. It's always useful to keep a pair in the car. You don't know whether the sun will be low in the sky when you're driving and the glare will get in your eyes. A lot of fatal vehicular accidents happen that way. You also don't know when someone might punch you. I couldn't hide the full extent of his punches unless I put a bag over my head, which would have attracted more attention, I reasoned, so I discounted it early on. I kept my head down and avoided everyone and went straight to my bedroom and just fell on the bed. It reminded me of when I was nineteen and I spent a lot of my time falling into various beds for about two weeks until I got bored of it. Once I got back here - which was my first goal with low odds of success - my intention was to shower. I was going to shower, get changed, break into the arms room and go right back to L's house and shoot Stephen. I'd bury the body. I imagined that L would be shocked but that he'd suggest it. 'We have to bury the body.' But getting home wiped me clean. It wasn't physically possible for me to move or do anything. L wasn't going to bury the body and he wasn't going to make me a cup of tea.

My arm hung over the edge of the bed, and the grey light from the window was so bright that it hurt the one eye that could see. I closed it. I couldn't be bothered to draw the curtains instead because it would mean moving. I saw black in one eye and a dark red lid in the other, so the overall impression of life with closed eyes was now brown. I lay there and wanted to sleep but couldn't. I thought of sorting myself out to see that it wasn't really so bad. Nothing seems so bad when you're upright. I needed to confront my problems and think rationally, but the greater part of me knew that wouldn't happen. It was better to stay where I was.

Time passed. It happens. Kiyomi turned up, as she tends to do when I'm in my bedroom. I was facing away from her. I heard her step and her voice and the rustle of her thighs rubbing her trouser legs together as she walked. She trained herself to walk in a proper way; like she's on a tightrope. I had told her not to buy mixed fibre clothes.

She asked me: "Are you getting up?" from the doorway. I opened my eye. No, I wasn't going to get up, because I'd just got back. "It's after twelve," she told me. Yes, but it was the weekend. The world stops at the weekend unless something happens.

She appeared around the side of the bed when I didn't have any comment on her timely observation. She was probably going to hold a mirror under my nose to check if I was still breathing, but then she saw my face.

"What the fuck happened to your face?" she shrieked. Not really a shriek. Kiyomi is excellent during times of trauma. It's a bonus prize I wasn't aware of when I bought her. If I was in a war zone, I'd send her across enemy lines with a torte and wait for them to wave the white flag.

"Kiyomi, don't talk to me for a while," I said. My voice was low and gravel-like. Like the gravel of L's drive. Like he'd shoved it down my throat.

"What? I'm calling a doctor," she replied.

"No. I fell but it's ok." My hand grazed hers to stop her from calling some paramedics, and the effort of doing that made me think of the fact that under normal circumstances I can do eight to twelve reps per set, even with higher weights. I could do more but I don't want to be too bulky. It's all about toning and core strength. I should lower my weights and raise the number of reps, I think. "I just need to be by myself for a while and then it'll be ok," I told her.

"You weren't drunk were you? What if someone tells the press?" This was a very valid question. I was trying to be concerned about it myself.

"Kiyomi, no offence but get the fuck out for an hour," I said. I said it as politely as I could, but I'd never sworn at her. I'd never had to. I always thought that she might hit me if I did, but as it was, it wouldn't have mattered if she had.

"You can't be seen like this, Light," she told me after a few seconds. The swearing passed her by or she ignored it. I must have looked like roadkill. It brought out the maternal, proactive logic in her.

"I won't go to the House until it's better. It's ok. I've figured it out," I lied.

"Can you do that? What about Questions on Friday?"

"I've nothing to say. Let Watari do it. Tell them I have a headache." That made me laugh and the bed shook slightly beneath me. I felt like I was part of it. I felt so close to crying that I didn't know whether it would make any difference if I laughed or cried because they're practically the same thing.

"You've never missed Questions."

"No." No, I never had. I'd never missed a day's work. Never had.

"People are going to talk," she said. "You'll have to take a week off and stay in. You can't be seen. The staff can't see you. You'll have to stay in here. They'll say it's getting to you."

She sounded like we were trying to cover up a murder. It made me think of L putting the kettle on after burying Stephen's body and what he would say. If someone else had done this, what would he say? He'd report it to the police on my behalf. He did it before, when someone keyed my car. He didn't know that it was Jeevas and, really, I don't think that it was, but he decided that it was Jeevas and reported it, saying that he saw him do it. He lied. I didn't stop him. I just stepped back from the whole thing and watched him have vengeance against anyone he wanted. It might as well have been Jeevas. So L did that, and then he keyed Jeevas' car and slashed his tyres with a penknife which had a 'B' carved into the handle and was coloured in with blue biro. He'd told me to pull over because he needed a piss. I was repulsed because we were in a heavily populated area, and although there was no one around because it was two in the morning, there was no toilet paper or running water with handwash and that kind of thing just worries me. He didn't have a piss. He ran across the road, and I thought: 'That's Jeevas' place!' and L attacked his car within fifteen seconds and without setting off the alarm. He came back, smiled at me and we didn't say anything about it. I'd never seen criminal damage committed right in front of me before, and it made me an accessory. I'd also never heard of a such a crime being committed by a respected barrister in his late thirties who was wearing an expensive suit.

The night before he left me for London and his dead dad, he said that he and B had done something similar to Astbury when they were seventeen, and he got a taste for it. I guessed that that was instead of his original plan of murdering him. B threw bricks through every window on the bottom floor of his house, and he had a lot of windows, while L totalled his Rolls Royce. L would have prosecuted the person who punched me. He likes prosecuting. Prosecuting isn't enough though, not when he's directly involved. Prosecution and retribution. The same right back and some extra, otherwise it's not justice. He'd probably say the same as Kiyomi. Practical. It's hard to guess now that he's fucking me figuratively since he's finished doing that literally.

I laughed again.

"It is getting to me," my mouth wheezed back at Kiyomi. I must have looked like a peeled blood orange with the whitest, straightest teeth in the district. I wished that she'd stop being so funny. It didn't matter.

She rubbed my back and I could feel the light scrape of her nails against my shirt. There was blood on my shirt. There was a time, a few months after L left, when I made him into some kind of distant ghost. What he said to me on the pavement was like the mad prophecy of a fortune teller who got into a taxi and drove away. There was a time when I kissed Kiyomi and I meant it. She was perfect in nearly every way. I'd never had a bad word from her, or the need to say one to her. We were happy. Everyone said we were. I suppose that it must have been true.

"I'll run you a bath," she told me. She thought that I was having very early mid-life crisis due to the realities of impending fatherhood. It's just natural to injure yourself and take a week off work when that happens. I felt her lift herself off the bed. I squinted my one eye open again to see her looking down at me. She looked pretty.

"You need a plaster on that, really," she said. She drew in a breath as she peered at my nose. "You should see a doctor, Light. What if it scars?"

I was a parrot. Everything she said seemed so hilarious in its pointlessness.

"If it scars," I repeated. Laughing.

* * *

I phoned L after the party. He didn't answer. I even left it for two days before I called. I checked my universal calendar and made sure that it wasn't a public holiday in England, since L had decided that those holidays followed him wherever he went. I left it too late. I should have phoned him that same night.

Naomi was over for coffee with Kiyomi. They had formed a coalition of interests. Kiyomi wanted a charity art project. Naomi would do anything which involved art and poignancy. It's all the meaning, not the actual art. You don't have to like it and you shouldn't like it because that would take the meaning away. It's not something you should want on your wall. If you do, then it's not real art. It's what it says to you that matters.

They decide on art for the blind. They'd find some blind people and make them paint pictures and then put them in an exhibition whether they liked it or not. I didn't quite understand the concept.

I walked in just to say hello to Naomi before I went back to work after lunch. To say hello and to see if Jeevas was still alive. He's hooked up to an IV and a respirator. I took a photo of him on my phone. Naomi and Kiyomi were discussing breastfeeding. Apparently Naomi could still breastfeed if she wanted to, despite the implants, but it's yet to be tested, thank God. This fascinating conversation led straight into a discussion of Stephen and L, which I thought that was very thoughtless of my feelings, but then I remembered that they didn't know about my feelings.

Naomi thought L was bad-tempered and didn't know what Stephen saw in him. Stephen's applied for permission to stay in Japan indefinitely. 'What does he think he has to offer my country?' That's what I thought then. Mikami thought that it was disgusting how Stephen and L acted in Haruki's and that they should have been arrested. That's what Naomi said. I don't even want to know. You can get away with a lot in Haruki's. Then I realised: L can't speak to me because of Stephen. Stephen's here and he's trying to stay here. In L's house. L wants me to stop him.

L loves him, apparently. 'Totally,' Naomi said.

* * *

I was going to see L in his office and just let Immigration send the standard letter to Stephen, but then, I actually want to see Stephen's face for the first and only time in my life. I text L and tell him that I'm coming over after work. He replies almost immediately to tell me that: 'It's not a good idea." It is. I ignore it. See how he likes it. He should make his fucking mind up so I'm making it up for him.

His house looks even more green in the daylight, like it's being reclaimed by nature. It's funny really, considering that he doesn't like nature. He doesn't like anything much, but when he does, he _really_ does. Little leaves drape over his house from tall trees like swathes of green velvet. His old house kept nature far away because the architect threw concrete everywhere.

When I draw up, Stephen ambles out of the garage, wiping his hands on some old rag. He's bought a boat or something. L bought it, I bet. L hates the water, so of course he bought a boat and a house by a lake.

So greasy Stephen walks up to me and smiles like he's still at the fucking Christmas party. His face is almost completely symmetrical. It's supposed to be an attractive feature. People seek the symmetrical in partners. My face is perfect and much better than his, so I'm not intimidated. Oh my God, he's wearing a t-shirt. Oh my _God_, it's an alumni t-shirt. Why should I care if he's been to Yale? I'm sure that he just bought it in a visitor's shop there or had it printed specially. Am I meant to be impressed? Like fuck, I'm impressed.

"Hi, Prime Minister!" he says and jogs towards me for the final few steps like he's happy to see me.

"Is L around?" I ask. To the point.

"Yeah, he's inside. Let me show you my boat! It was a Christmas present, look!" He wants me to go over with him and point at his boat and admire the engine and propellers. We could bond over the boat. I don't move.

"It's very... boaty."

"I'm hot rodding it," he tells me. I hope that's not sexual.

"Right. Stephen, I've got to speak to you."

"Sure. Everything ok?"

"L's inside?"

"Yeah."

"Good," I say. I look at him for too long really, then I walk towards the house. He follows me, runs up beside me, talks to me about something I really can't bring myself to show an interest in and I think that he's taller than me. He is taller than me. Six foot fucking eleven, probably. Size twenty-four fucking shoes, probably. Hung like a donkey, probably. Blue eyes.

He cuts in front of me once we get inside and that's just _rude_. He dumps his rag on a console table I remember from L's old house. I used to drop my keys in a bowl on the top of it. That console table is French Regency. It's not ostentatious though, it's just quality. I always liked it. It's been around for two hundred years and someone put all their skills into it and now Stephen's putting his dirty, sweaty, greasy rags on it. I honestly haven't hated someone so much since Hayato Dazai won the end of year writing award when I was eight years old. My work was consistently miles better. They only gave it to him because he wrote a hundred words about how his dead sister was living in a cloud. They just felt awkward giving me all the awards even though I deserved them. That was my first introduction to injustice.

There's something very Buddhist about this place, so L definitely shouldn't be here. It's very boring and spiritual on account of all the green and nature trying to break in from outside. All L's things are spread around in here and none of them match. It's like a display case for anthropologists.

He's got his feet up on his old recliner like an old man. He even has a blanket over his knees. He's reading a book - it's called _Shantaram_ or something – and God, L. If you could see yourself, you'd cry.

"Hello," he says when he sees me walk in. I can't tell if he's glad that I'm here or not. Give me something.

"Are you sick again?" I ask breezily as I sit opposite him and cross my leg over the other. Yes, L. Look at my fucking legs. It's like they've been turned by a divinely talented woodcarver. I bet that Stephen has very pronounced, over-developed calf muscles, which, personally, I find very unattractive. Trousers don't hang well on them and it limits flexibility.

"No," L answers. He's not sick but he clearly is. He's saying no to sickness and trying to ignore it so it'll go away. He puts his book on the table next to him. I'm going to buy a copy of that later. His phone rings and he sends it to voicemail.

"He is sick," Stephen tells me as he rushes between us. I fucking know that, you moron! I've known him for four years and you've just turned up. Stephen picks up some of L's used tissues from the floor as he goes, and L coughs into another tissue, blows his nose, sniffs and hides the tissue under the blanket. He doesn't appear to appreciate Stephen's silent fussing. Stephen is unfortunately still here and throws some logs on the fire. He looks far too self-satisfied for his own good. I sigh dismissively as I look from him and back to L.

"I have a cold, Stephen, I'm not dying. For what reason do we owe this pleasure, Light?" he asks. Stephen sits on the arm of L's recliner like a trained bird and they both stare at me.

"Oh! Sorry. Can I get you anything?" Stephen chirps at me when I don't answer L's question. He stands up in readiness for my every whim. I'd like him to knife himself in the eye but he'd probably miss.

"I'll have a coffee," I say.

"How do you take it?" Boiled, you idiot.

"Black," I tell him. He smiles and reaches under L's blanket. L lifts up his hands in surprise like a thief caught red-handed and holy shit, what's going on here? Stephen pulls out another tissue, ruffles L's hair, L looks a bit sheepishly embarrassed and I probably look suicidal. Then he leaves to put the tissue in a shrine. Yes. Leave us alone and go lose yourself.

"What is he still doing here?" I ask L once Stephen's out of the room.

"He lives here. What are you doing here?" he replies. His voice sounds thickly rounded with whatever infection he's picked up. His immune system is losing the will to fight. It's actually trying to help him die and escape the horrible situation he's put himself into.

"Ooooooh... burn," I smile. "I'm confused. You wouldn't take my calls."

"So I was either paralysed or dead, right? It couldn't possibly have been a big 'fuck you'."

"I asked you if you'd answer me now, and you said: 'Yes,'" I say breathily, throwing my head back in ecstasy for a moment. "Just like that. All sort of 'what flavour condoms do you like these days?'-ish. Funny. I thought we were over this."

"No. I went home and had a think. 'Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.' You always flattered me, Light, and I'll probably always have a certain weakness for you. But I can restrain it."

B spoke to him. I raise my eyebrows and light a cigarette. He doesn't like it. Not in his house. Not with a raging fire going which is also smoking, and with open windows and the fact that he occasionally steals smokes off me himself, no. I stand up, he looks at me defiantly and hacks out a cough. I'd love to see him try to punch me now. I walk to his drinks cabinet which is still a drinks cabinet and root through the bottles. There's nothing worth drinking there. I blow a cloud inside it and shut the glass doors, trapping the smoke inside.

"Fuck's sake, L. Do you have anything apart from lemonade and tonic water in this fucking place now or is it just far too exciting for him?"

"Cupboard," he says. He's hiding his drinks in one of his work cupboards. That's a bad sign. He's drinking himself to death in private. There's a bottle of vodka hidden behind _Crimes Against Humanity: The Struggle For Global Justice_. You have to laugh.

"Ice?"

"It'll be in the kitchen, I expect. In a frozen box we call the 'freezer'."

Stephen comes back in at that moment, which is lucky.

"Hey. You," I say to him. He stops dead holding two mugs. "I don't suppose that you have any ice?"

"What he means is: Could you please get him some ice, Stephen? Thank you," L asks.

"Actually, Stephen, this concerns you," I say cheerfully. L swings his legs off his chair and he looks like he's both daring me and that he's frightened of what I might say. "L and I have an arrangement of a sexual nature and we have done for years. It started out as nothing but now it's everything and you're in the fucking way. Get your shit out of this house, get in your boat and fuck off." I don't say that.

"Oh?" Stephen says, dull as dishwater. He puts the mugs on the table.

"Yes. Unfortunately, your immigration application has been denied," I tell him with a sad smile of inevitability. It was inevitable. "I thought that I'd tell you myself."

"What? Why? Is there something wrong with my papers?" he asks.

"No, but there's a clap down on immigration at the moment to try and ease population levels in the Tokyo area. Just the whole country, really. I'm sorry. I tried to have a word with Immigration but even my reference wasn't enough."

"Shit," he sighs in shock. He sits down on the recliner next to L. I pick up my coffee and shrug my shoulders at L as Stephen stares at his shoes.

"Did you try _really_ hard, Light? Did you bust a gut?" L asks me with condemning eyes. Oh, it's beautiful. The fury.

"It's ok," Stephen tells him, he lets his hand drop onto L's and I exhale a shuddering breath. "It's shit, but you can't expect them to make exceptions for me. I can try again in a few months, right?" he says, looking up at me. I pout as I appear to consider such a ludicrous idea.

"You could."

"But you don't see the situation changing?"

"It's not for me to say."

"Could you leave us for a minute?" L asks. He's looking at me but he means Stephen, I'm sure. "This won't take long."

Stephen leans towards L, who's still staring at me, and quietly makes some easing noises and pleas for restraint into his ear. Yeah, L. Calm down and just accept it. You know you want to.

"Thanks for telling me personally, Prime Minister," Stephen mutters as he stands up.

"I wish that I could bring better news," I reply, sounding devastated even though my face is aching to smile. He leaves in a sloping way and I turn to look at L again and let my victory show.

"You fucking bastard," he says.

"Oh, well, that's nice. Don't blame me that Immigration decided that they didn't want some unintelligent Intelligence whatever he is over here."

"Really?"

"Really. Truth is, they thought that he was a security breach. Strange, eh? That was what I thought."

"He's left the CIA."

"That's what he says. I'm surprised at you. Is this for show? I thought you'd want this. Makes it easier for you."

"You did this and you... what?" he asks, shaking his head slightly like he can't comprehend it. "You didn't do this for me. You did this for yourself."

"Did what? Put the brakes on it? Please. I have other things to worry about which are more important than your boyfriend, L."

"Get out."

"Blame me then. Whatever's easier for you. I'm just here to help," I say and gulp down my horrible coffee. The coffee's ok but it's been prepared completely incorrectly by a complete idiot.

"I'll lay blame at the right door, Light and it's yours. Get out."

"Now, now. This is fine but wait until Stephen's here. Do you want an emotional send off, is that it? Am I the big nasty man breaking up your little romance, is that how you want it to look? Ok, whatever you want. I'll wear my best scapegoat face."

He stands and I feel my shoulders slacken just from that alone. Fuck, what's wrong with me? He's eighty percent phlegm right now. He draws close to me until I can feel his breath on my face and I'll probably get his cold but I don't really care right now.

"Light?" he whispers. Yes. I close my eyes from the nearness of him. "I resign."

My eyes snap open to see him walking away from me towards the door.

"What?"

"Expect my resignation letter in the morning," he says, holding the door open. Oh, no, no, no, no. This isn't the way it was supposed to go. He was supposed to leap into my lap and tweak my nipples and tell me how grateful he was to me for saving him from a fate worse than death. Then he'd throw out Stephen's stuff and give me my old drawer back. The idea of him resigning is so laughable I can't get my head around it. PR would implode. He _is_ PR.

"I won't accept it."

"That's up to you, but I resign anyway. You can't stop the press, and I'll be ringing them just in time before they go to print."

"Don't you fucking dare. This isn't over until I say so. What is wrong with you? Is your brain infected?"

"It takes two to tango, Light. And I don't want to dance with you anymore," he tells me happily. What?

Of course, Stephen decides that this is a brilliant time to come back in and he's brought ice, the fucking muppet. His face is all confusion, like mine must be.

"What's going on?" he asks L.

"Nothing, Stephen. I'm just resigning from the government."

"You're what?"

"I'm in law, not a puppet master parade. That's Light's job."

"You're not doing this over me, are you? It's not his fault. L, this is your job. Don't be stupid."

"Yeah, L. Don't be stupid," I smile in agreement having found an unlikely source of backup in Stephen. My smile must push L over the edge into full blown rage since he loses his joyful indifference.

"Get the fuck out of my house!" he shouts at me. Stephen looks like he's just been told that he has five seconds left to live and doesn't quite know what to do. He puts his hands on L's shoulders like he can contain him somehow by doing so, but then realises that it's useless. L doesn't even know that he's there, he's too busy glaring at me, so Stephen talks to me in the most apologetic way he can, which is pretty apologetic.

"Listen, I'm sorry, Prime Minister. I don't know what's happened, but you should go. Respect his wishes."

I don't move. I'm not going; he is. I'm going to stand here and watch him pack right now. Why wait? Just go. I'm going to tell him all about L and how he _is_ a manwhore and he's fucked me every which way for years and he loves me, he told me. He just loves me, that's all. He loves me like I'm a part of him. That's what he said. I'm like no one else. He beat me up because he loves me, because he cares enough. It doesn't mean anything if it doesn't hurt. He wants to be my forever. I asked him to show me how much he hated me and he kissed me. That's what he did. He didn't see me for four hours and he acted like it had been months and why was I so far away? In me he sees a storm coming – the storm on his horizon. He was born purely for me but it works both ways. He said that I was too late but he didn't mean it. He said he was disappointed in me but he said he was proud of me once. 'You've scored big time, Yagami-kun.' That's what he said. He finds me interesting. I'm fascinating. I'm attractive when I'm righteous and arrogant. He's frightened of me. I drove a steam roller through his life. He's not a game to me and he broke my table. I'm not good for him, I didn't love him, I didn't even like him but then I did. I liked his face. He thought I'd try harder. I'd still be in Transport now if it wasn't for him. I was a useful idiot and a self-obsessed imbecile. He loves me in a place where there's no space or time. He said that I'm kind sometimes and that he feels like he's constantly pinned to a bed whenever I speak to him. That's what he said.

But Stephen's moving towards me to put a gentle hand on my arm. He's so fucking touchy-feely - what's wrong with him? He has no right to touch me, not L and definitely not me. I feel like he's pissing on my leg. He's disgusting.

"Get off me," I tell him, swatting his hand away from me so he draws back like I'm having a fit.

"Oh, look at that," L sighs. "Call him 'Light', Stephen. You don't need permission. He's just like you and me only he's had a run of good luck. He's still the old Light he always was. Still the same Light who was Deputy of Transport in front of an inquiry and still the same vicious bastard I found, flailing his arms at the world because it's not exactly how he wants it to be. I'm sick of seeing your face, Light. Get out. Get out or I might have more to say to the press when I call them."

* * *

"God, what is she wearing?"

"You do know that we're at her husband's funeral, don't you?"

"Yes, but there's absolutely no excuse for _that_. It's more reason to effort in. I would."

"And what would you wear at my funeral, Kiyomi."

"Don't say that, Light. But, since you ask, probably that Balenciaga suit you bought me."

"Very nice. I'd like that. Maybe a veil? Dress the kid in black as soon as he's born. You're my very own Jackie Kennedy."

Yes, and blood all over her suit; I can see it. An eternal flame for me on my grave. I'll have left a mark and it's a glorious thing.

"Hush. You're terrible."

"We're both terrible. We should be at Church. Oh, looks like we're here, kind of. That's lucky. Now we can repent."

I see her turn to look at me out of the corner of my eye, so of course I turn to look at her. Her eyes are like every porn film I've ever seen. Lined in black. The hint of a socket. They're made to be seen closed.

"Please," she whispers desperately, lascivious bitch with a child inside.

"Whore."

"Sadist."

"Oh, Kiyomi..." I smile down at her. I'm not sure if she's hoping that I'll have her over Jeevas' coffin judging by the look on her face, which is an idea, but I point out that her photo opportunity has arrived. Girls only. Here is where we part. "Here's Naomi," I say. Her expression changes immediately with determination.

"Be good," she whispers back. "Naomi! Oh, you poor thing. Come here," she says loudly, arms wide to take Naomi into her heart.

Naomi collapses in Kiyomi's embrace and the photographers go wild. There's tomorrow's front cover of the papers then, because obviously this is more important than the twelve people who burned to death in that massive motorway pile up this morning. I look to the ground in devastation. I've lost one of my closest friends and it's an absolute tragedy. He had so much to live for and he was so young and had so much potential and how cruel of life to cut him down in his prime like this. This would all be very sad, but it is only Jeevas who's died. Jeevas and his fucked up corpse. It's been a long time coming, and I might have felt sorry for Naomi if I didn't know that she's been having an affair with Mikami for the last few months of Jeevas' life. She must have a thing for drug addicts. Kiyomi starts steering Naomi towards the car, and I wish I could tell her that she has a slick of Naomi's red lipstick on her shoulder. Naomi looks like she's so upset that she's bleeding from the mouth. It doesn't really show on the jacket, but Kiyomi's no longer perfect so long as it's there.

"Yagami," Mikami says from behind me.

"Mikami," I reply. "Sad day."

"Yeah. Yeah. Listen, Lawliet's here."

"Fuck. What's he doing here?" I hiss quietly and immediately start scanning the crowd for him. I haven't seen him for over a month and it turns out that I have absolutely no self-control. He's been abroad. He's been in France. He took Stephen and probably had some psychological evaluations done while he was there. This was supposed to be a safe zone.

"No idea why he's here, but he's here. Do you want me to get rid of him?"

"No, we can't do that. It's not worth it anyway. Where is he?"

"Don't talk to him, Yagami."

"I wasn't going to."

"Let's go, yeah? Done and dusted, so to speak," he says as Kiyomi waddles up behind him, unstable on her stilt-like heels. She looks fine when she's standing still, apart from that she looks like she has a hernia. I'll be glad when she's back to normal. Out of her clothes, she looks like the host to an alien and it's only going to get much, much worse.

"Light... Oh, hello, Teru," she greets him while taking hold of my arm, leaning on me heavily to steady herself. Mikami has been utterly accepted. The government approves of his and Naomi's adultery. "Light, I'm going in Naomi's car, ok? I'll see you back at hers. Could you collect the urn? I don't think that Naomi can deal with that at that moment. Bring it with you."

"No," Mikami says gruffly. "She doesn't want it. Spread it on that rose garden or something, would you? Just get rid of it." Was that a fucking order? He's lucky the press are at the gates. Don't want the barely dead husband in his metal case watching you fuck the widow, eh, Mikami?

"Fine," I answer.

"What's wrong?" Kiyomi asks me. She's very sensitive to my subtle fluctuations of mood. It's useful at times and not at others. She had a weak moment the other day, due to a hormonal imbalance, I'm told. Her mother decided to tell her that the great Takada had an affair while Kiyomi was a little girl. I'm not sure why she'd think that Kiyomi needed to know this, but it disturbed her to a day spent entirely in a dressing gown which ballooned out slightly over her stomach. She asked me if I'd ever have an affair, because, of course, I'm just like her father. I said that she's my affair. The next day, she was her old self again.

"There's nothing's wrong," I tell her. "It's a funeral, do you expect me to breakdance? I'll see you there. Mikami will go with you. Take the guard because I don't want him."

Mikami hands me his keys so at least I have a way of getting out of here. They go without further argument or comment; Mikami leaning into the car to speak to Naomi before they roll off slowly, crunching on the gravel as the gates open. The press must think that I'm in the car and press their cameras against the darkened windows as it drives by like it's a hearse. Everything slows up on a funeral day. As most people are leaving, I walk through the hornet's nest of rooms in the building, overpowered by the stench of flowers which are somehow chemical in this place. Flowers hiding the smell of bleach.

In a room with open double doors, L and Stephen have their backs to me. Stephen has his hand on L's shoulder as they laugh at something in front of them which is blocked from my view. With the screech of tyres outside, since the driver must have realised that he's still alive, they both turn their heads to the window and I dash to one side so I won't be seen. L's found a loophole, hasn't he? Retract the application before it was marked as denied and extend Stephen's temporary visa somehow. He has friends in high and low places. I'm not sure why he left the country and I'm not sure how long he thinks he can keep all this up. He's probably going to get around it by seeking a certificate of eligibility to avoid standard procedures through the Ministry and hope it goes through. He'll say that he wants to hire him to get a working visa if that doesn't work and lie and lie and lie. No point marrying the fucker abroad because it wouldn't be legally recognised for a specified visa. This would be an excellent time for L to decide that he's interested in LGBT rights. I'd laugh my fucking head off. It won't make any difference. He's pissing in the wind.

"Urgh. Bastard press," L says, in English. I peer around the door to watch him.

"They're leaving now," Stephen replies, walking to the window and pulling the net curtain to one side to investigate. L follows him lazily.

"So they bloody should," he says, looking outside over Stephen's shoulder. They're about the same height, but perhaps Stephen is a little taller. Imagined things fly through my mind as I look at them and I want to murder them both again for it. L's slightly tanned, for him, so it must be sunny in France this time of year. He's had his hair cut. It's shorter at the back. "Looks like they're after our darling Mr and Mrs Yagami," he continues. "That's the PM's car."

"I hope he gets no peace. For upsetting you, I mean. And he didn't like my boat," Stephen says in a low tone. Bastard.

"Stephen, that's shocking. Why wouldn't anyone like your boat? He's obviously mad. I might have to kiss you to make up for it," L replies. Another bastard.

"Not in a crematorium," he smiles slightly out the window. "I'll take a rain check. They're so perfect, aren't they? They remind me of Ken and Barbie. Poor Kiyomi."

"Hmmm..." L sounds out regretfully, resting his chin on Stephen's padded fucking shoulder. Fucking padded! "Don't hate him. _Maybe_ I overreacted."

"_Maybe_," Stephen grins in agreement. "I don't hate him. I haven't got the energy to hate anyone."

"No. You can't, can you?" L asks, though it sounds like it's more of a statement of wonder based on his emphasis of the words. "You don't have it in you."

"It doesn't matter anyway, he's nothing to do with us now. Like you said, if you give him enough rope, he'll hang himself."

What? What does that mean? I miss an exchange between them because I can't believe that L would have said that to anyone but me. I can _hear_ him saying it to me. I can see him saying it to me, and I'd laugh at how absurd a thought it was, but he'd never say it to anyone else. He wouldn't. Not to some fucking CIA spaghetti western fuck fuck fuck.

"I didn't mean it like that. I don't want him to die, Stephen," L says, and his voice is cooling. No, it's just a phrase, isn't it?

"Ha! I didn't think that you did," Stephen replies. "I meant that he'll make a mistake one day. He can't keep shit up forever."

"He lives it though, and I don't even want him to be unsuccessful. I helped create him, so in a way, he's my greatest triumph. I just want him to disappear."

"Or we could disappear."

"Yeah. Take me _away_ from all this!" L says dramatically with a laugh. He doesn't laugh with anyone but me. I've never seen him so much as smile honestly at anyone else but me. This is all wrong. I got this wrong.

"When you're ready to go, we'll go. Just say the word," Stephen tells him.

They say a few other comments which they laugh at. I don't understand and it infuriates me that I'm still at such a disadvantage to only understand part of what they're saying, and in relation to what I did understand, the odd words I catch don't make any sense. Some flashlights and brake lights shine through the windows as another car attempts to leave. The lights colour their faces red and white in short bursts like the fireworks did in my dream. I have to get L alone in a locked room. I have to get Stephen out of here and get L in a locked room because I know how to handle this now. There's only one thing that worked. I step inside the room.

"I wish I had my air rifle. I could aim for their cameras," Stephen says, unaffected by the lights while L shields his eyes.

"If I had an air rifle, I wouldn't be aiming for their cameras," L replies. Stephen shows off his perfect smile and starts turning towards L. If he touches him, I will pull out every one of those teeth with a pair of rusty pliers... but he spots me in the doorway and frowns.

"How nice to see you on this sad occasion," I say.

"Oh, cunting bollocks," L says, pressing his face into Stephen's back when he sees me. "We thought that you'd left. I didn't notice that 'O Fortuna' was still playing in the background." Stephen snorts at that but then goes straight back to looking at me suspiciously.

"How long have you been there?" he asks me. If he doesn't hate me, he's putting on a very good show. I don't know why he should hate me because I've done nothing to him. Unless L did tell him.

"You both look well." I smile as widely as I can, like I'm deaf to everything.

"Piss off, Prime Minister," L tells me. "There's a soapbox somewhere with your name on it. Save your niceness for someone who likes being lied to and stabbed in the back. Yes. Stabbed in the fucking back!" he shouts. I keep smiling and if anything my smile increases. Stephen pats him on the arm and... God's sake.

"It's lucky I've seen you here. We need to discuss the severance terms of your contract. We might as well do it now for an element of poetry. A funeral and a death of a contract. If you're not too busy staring out of windows together like you're in an opera, that is.

"Shouldn't any discussions be done in the office? Someone should take minutes of our conversation."

"We're going to Naomi's now, anyway," Stephen says. "It's not a good time."

"Exactly. It's not a good time," L repeats with a stony face. I keep smiling to stop myself doing anything else.

"I insist. Best get it over with. I'm busy next week."

"So are we."

"Well, it's not really up for discussion then. We can talk in here. Oh, look. There's Jeevas in a pot," I say, noticing the urn on the table.

"Shame he didn't realise how much he was hated. People have turned up either to savour the moment or to support Naomi. And look at him now. Ashes in a pot while everyone's running off to his house to drink to his death."

"I have to get rid of him."

"Come again?"

"Naomi doesn't want to have anything to do with it," I explain. "His entire family is either dead or doesn't care, so I said that I'd take care of it."

"You're the last person who should. You hated him."

"So did you. Isn't it a bit hypocritical of you to be here?"

"No more hypocritical than it is for you to be here. Considerably less, in fact; I made no pretence of liking him."

"Neither did I."

"We're all hypocritical for being here," Stephens pipes up. "I didn't even know him. Just cut out the shit and get on with it." He even resents that L and I are speaking. He thinks that he can come in and divide us when he's just a brief joke of an intermission. He doesn't know what he is.

"Alright. Discuss my severance," L says to me.

"Ha, I'm sorry, but I'm not discussing anything with a civilian present," I laugh, gesturing towards the fuckwit, who looks extremely offended to be referred to in that way. L sighs and turns to his idiot.

"I'll meet you at Naomi's after I've spoken with the maharaja, here. The keys are in my coat pocket in the cloakroom, because some of us wear coats," he says pointedly to Stephen, who clearly doesn't go in for coats for some reason. Stephen would throw himself into a brick wall repeatedly (although he'd probably do more damage to the wall than himself) rather than oppose the will of the mighty L in any way. He rolls his head like it's barely connected to his muscle-amplified stalk of a neck and walks off. He's hardly Rambo, but I wouldn't say that he's made for a suit either. He always makes them look cheap and stupid like he's wearing an envelope. L always did like people who do what they're told, but it can't keep him entertained for long. I'm sure that this is all for my benefit. He's only brought him into his life to annoy me. As Stephen walks past me, I feel so numbly cold on one side that for a second I think that I've had an aneurysm.

"And, Stephen," I say. "Tell the manager that we're not to be disturbed. Important business."

Seeing his revolting blue eyes become clock faces as I close the door causes so much joy for me that I'm sure it must show. I flick the inside thumb-lock and turn back around to L, who's still in the same spot, with Jeevas in an urn on the table behind him. I was looking at Jeevas' coffin a few hours ago before the reception, and during the reception he must have been burning. They didn't waste any time. It's almost like the world couldn't wait to get rid of him. Next to the urn is a horrible smiling photograph of a face which doesn't exist anymore. The top of the frame is decorated with a sad bow of black and white ribbon. The kind you'd normally see on a Yorkshire Terrier.

"I should warn you, I have a personal attack alarm," L tells me.

"You told him, didn't you?" I ask, and he smiles, dips his head and rubs his index finger against the centre of his forehead.

"He asked me a second time and I didn't deny it," he answers. "He was quite disappointed in us both. I said that it was many years ago but it's still a cause of much friction because you're intensely embarrassed by such an indiscretion. Strangely, I feel exactly the same way. I only narrowly brought myself back from the brink of suicide. I also said that you despise homosexuals. You're a very complex character."

"You could say that I murder puppies in my spare time. Like I care what he thinks of me. I just hope he knows to keep his fucking mouth shut."

"He knows."

"Did you tell him that you love me? I bet you didn't tell him that."

"I would, if it was true."

"It's still true and it's pathetic. More so now that you've been fucking around with him, I bet. You must miss me like you'd miss your balls since you've saddled yourself with someone so inadequate. It hurts me to think of you so desperate."

"Ha. Coming from you. Ok. I think that's jealousy," he says, briefly pressing his finger to his lips and looking upward. "Yes. That's definitely jealousy. Hello, jealousy. He's easily as good-looking as you, and he's a good person as well, unlike you. I won the lottery, Light. Try to be happy for me, because everyone else is. I don't do long term relationships. Too messy. You're a case in point. I know everyone was thinking: 'Oh, that Lawliet, will he ever settle down? He's such a catch. If only some nice man could tame his wild stallion of a heart!' And now someone has. It's not as bad as I'd expected."

"He's a dickhead and you know it. He wears jeans." This is the best example I can think of right now. It sounded better in my head.

"He does and he wears them very well," L informs me, though my opinion couldn't be more different. "Thanks for your interest in my life. Let me assure you that I'm very content, but being in this room with you is ruining an enjoyable funeral for me. What do you suggest the terms of my severance are?"

"Forty million yen and a confidentiality clause."

"I'm going cheap these days," he laughs. "Eighty."

"Sixty and Mihael stays."

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Mihael goes with me."

"I don't want him anyway. Seventy and your list of contacts."

"Eighty and you can have the contacts."

"Seventy-five and the name and address of the Yakuza boss you were working for," I demand, and he looks shocked. "Yes, I know about that."

"Are you really splitting hairs over five million yen? That wouldn't even keep me in rentboys in Soho. Eighty and I'll throw in a few blackmailing options for my contacts and _all_ in a lovely spiral binder."

"Done."

"Oh, how nice," he exhales, like he's surprised that it's all over. "And to think that I was willing to walk away with nothing but a sore heart and migraine. That's about... six hundred thousand pounds. I can put a downpayment on that house in London I was thinking of buying. I could name it after you - Yagami Towers. Or maybe just 'Yagami'. You know what your name spells backwards in English."

"Oh, that's hilarious."

"So, how are you going to explain that shortfall to the Treasury?

"Expenses," I explain, and walk towards the window. I could have gone higher. Through the net curtain I can see the press dispersing and Stephen walking towards a taxi which is drawing up. He must have left the car for L. How ridiculously thoughtful and vomit-worthy. "God, there he goes. John fucking Wayne," I say. I thought that L would come to see what I was looking at, but he's still in the same spot like he's rooted to the floor. He knows who I'm talking about though, which amuses me.

"He looks good in a suit, doesn't he?" he asks provocatively. Delusional shitehawk.

"No. That suit is synthetic."

"It's not; I bought it for him. It's from Yves Saint Laurent's Rive Gauche line. He doesn't care about clothes though. After putting up with you for so long, it's quite refreshing. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I think about the times when you orated about suits for what seemed like days. Then I find that I sleep like a lamb within five minutes."

"Rive Gauche?" I murmur weakly.

"Rive Gauche," he repeats.

"Vintage?"

"Your Tom Ford designed it. Still had the tags. You should see the label, Light. You should _see_ the label."

"He just makes it look synthetic then."

I shiver and lose interest in watching Stephen leave. It's sacrilege that he's in that suit. I turn towards L instead, who looks like he's on the verge of an orgasm.

"What do you talk about?" I ask. "Nothing terribly highbrow, I'm guessing?"

"I admit, we don't talk much," he replies with a lopsided grin, obviously taking far too much pleasure from this than he should. "We're saving up conversations for our old age. Did I mention that he's very, very good-looking and likes me a hell of a lot? Dare I say that the word 'love' has been mentioned? He likes me that much. Ooops, sorry to let that one out of the bag. I know how you have a problem with it."

"I'm so pleased for him."

"Mmmmm..." he smiles dreamily, and I close the curtains. We're only warmly lit by two candles on the table next to Jeevas, and even they're burning down.

"But you don't love him. You love me. That must be awkward," I tell him. He might have forgotten and I should remind him, but he snorts out a laugh on a breath.

"The heart is a fickle, fickle thing. Speaking of love and significant others; I see that Kiyomi is expecting somebody's baby."

"Unless you're been living under a rock, it can't be surprising."

"Stephen told me months ago that you were 'trying', as Kiyomi put it. You appear to have tried and it paid off. And I saw the papers. I just thought that perhaps it was a mistake and that it was more likely that she'd run to fat instead. How far gone is she? When should we expect the demon child?"

"She's only three months gone. She's not very happy."

"And who's the father?"

"It's mine, of course."

"Everything's yours. I'll have to remember to send her some flowers. A wreath of lilies might be appropriate. Carrying your spawn must be quite draining. 'Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.' Otherwise known as The Child of Yagami. And, completely unrelated: 'From the eternal sea he rises, creating armies on either shore, turning man against his brother till man exists no more.' Maybe the Mayans just got their dates slightly wrong? Damien ended up in politics, didn't he? Well, if that's all, then I think I'll follow my man in the synthetic suit. Bye, Jeevas," he bows at the urn. "It wasn't very nice knowing you. That goes for you too," he says, facing me again.

"We should shake hands on the deal," I say.

"Must we?"

"It's tradition, isn't it? It's the end."

He rolls his eyes and holds his hand out reluctantly. I walk towards him, take his hand and let it linger.

"L, I feel like I have to tell you. I never loved you. I... I honestly think that I was frightened of the prospect of settling down."

"Thank you for telling me that," he replies with a set jaw. "I'm glad that I could be of some assistance."

"I just wanted to apologise. I lied to you."

"You didn't, actually. I was never under the impression that you thought anything of me really. I got you where you are. In the Kantei with your pregnant wife."

"You helped. Thank you."

"Well, if love makes us lose our purpose then you're never in any danger of that."

"No. I love Kiyomi."

Yes, like it's a fact and it undermines everything he built for himself. I was a fool for him, I'd keep chasing him and he'd keep pushing me away. But I haven't said the right lines. I haven't done what he expected and he doesn't know how to take it. When I look at him now, I fight the affection from showing through my eyes. I feel it pouring out like tears for him. I step forward and he goes completely tree-like in my arms. His breath hitches and I watch his face for something I'm not sure that I'll find.

"I'll give you everything you want and go for nothing if you leave me the fuck alone," he says, staring straight ahead. His eyes look mercurial in this dim light.

"I don't want you to go at all," I tell him, titling my head to watch my heads spread across his chest, letting them curve around his back under his jacket while he just stands there like my favourite statue. My favourite person. I don't think that he was expecting any compromised tenderness from me. I say that I don't think anything of him and that I love my wife, but I touch him like it's not true. I drag my mouth against his neck as I speak. He always did like that. "L, stay with me. I want to hold Jeevas' ashes while they're still warm. I want to paint him on your skin while I'm inside you."

"Prime Minister, I'm appalled. That's practically necrophilia," he quips nervously, and as I start pulling his shirt from his trousers, he reaches behind himself to stop my hands. "Seriously, Light. Get off me."

"This should end the way it started. I thought then that I'd never met anyone like you. And now Jeevas is here, you're leaving, you'll never see me again. But it was just a thought."

I pull away, but as I do he's still holding my hands behind him. I don't fight against them.

"Was it a lie? Don't tell me it didn't mean anything," he pleads with me. Oh, he looks so sad. It's his Achilles' heel. He just wants to be loved. He always envied me because I never wanted the same thing.

"I won't say that it wasn't fun though. You were close. Almost there. I suppose that we'll never know now. Let me kiss you goodbye."

He lets go of me and I lean forward to press a slow kiss on his cheek. His hands move over my back to hold me there and I speak into his ear.

"What do you see? Boring, boring, boring and forever. This is such a missed opportunity. It's a shame."

I stop speaking, because that's always been my downfall with him. He misunderstands me, he doesn't hear me, he wants me to say things I can't say. Maybe he did like me better before. We speak in different languages in many ways and I have to do this right. It's risky but his hands are on my back. His hands are on my back.

He kisses the curve between my bottom lip and chin, but I raise my face out of his reach like he's something vile to me. He takes my jaw tightly in one hand, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are so angry.

"There you are are," I breathe out, and he kisses me with everything I never doubted that he felt for me, otherwise I wouldn't have chased it; I could have let him go but I knew it was there. I want to beat our mouths into purple, bloody, deep bruises like lipstick marks on dying roses. His hand cups around the back of my head, because he wants to keep me here. I knew it.

* * *

"Where have you been? More importantly, what happened to your suit?"

I keep dusting at some of the grey smudges on the arm of my jacket. I thought it was ok, but in this light I look like I've been kept in a dusty shed for a few years.

"Sorry. Fucking wind blew Jeevas back at me," I explain. Kiyomi is not impressed with me at all. I've acted shamefully and I've come back to her like this. It hurts when I sit down so I'll stand whenever possible. Naomi's house is so cluttered with art and things of cultural interest and beauty that it's completely overwhelming. Nothing is able to speak; the whole effect just shouts at you at once. Not a trace of Jeevas is left here now, but I brought him with me.

"Oh God, don't let Naomi see you like that!" Kiyomi panics. She pulls me off to one side and dips a napkin into her glass of water to dab at the spots and streaks on my suit and my hair and my face. It's between my fingers, it's on my wedding ring, it's under my nails.

"Have I missed anything?" I ask the crown of her head. She glances up at me, looking very irritated.

"My ankles are swollen. Apart from that, no."

Pregnancy does not suit her. She knew almost immediately and she felt sick and tired and achey almost immediately and she swelled up like she has a slowly inflating beach ball shoved up her dress.

"Sit down then," I suggest. She's wearing indoor shoes which her feet are bulging out of and the toe thong presses in over her black stockings. She looks miserable. I've never known Kiyomi to wear ugly shoes in private, let alone at a formal reception. Especially since everyone else is wearing their nice shiny shoes and flouting the conventions of a private house.

"I'll have to get a pair of those Ugg boots. I can see it," she whimpers.

"Are things really that bad?"

"It's getting that way. There. That'll have to do," she says, walking around me to check her handiwork over before throwing the napkin into the bin. "Light, honestly. Everyone knows that you must always stand downwind."

"I'll get a drink and join in with all this fun," I tell her happily.

"Oh, you horrible man. You're going to wave your glass in front of me when I'd kill for wine!"

"Well, you can't have any!" I laugh and turn around as she walks off with a snort. I smack straight into L. He looks top fucking shelf.

"Ooooh, hello!" I smile at him.

"Excuse me," he mutters, pushing past me.

"You've got Jeevas on you," I call after him, which makes him come back.

"Shut the _fuck_ up," he snarls quietly. "You are really perverted, you know that? I thought that I'd written the book on depravity but you make me look vanilla."

"He tastes just how I imagined he would," I reply, wiping the corner of my mouth. "Oh. Hello, Stephen. How nice to see you again."

"I'm guessing you sorted out the contract then?" he says moodily and moves like a slug to L's side, holding out a glass of wine to him. I see an opportunity and seize it, killing two birds with one stone as I reach for a lone glass of wine from a tray on the table.

"Yes. Everything was very satisfactory," I answer with a smile. Jeevas is in my mouth. He's grit in my teeth. He's grit in L's teeth. Fuck me.

I have a swig of wine and spit it into a plant pot. L takes the glass Stephen gave him and swills his mouth out. Spit or swallow? I can't wait to find out. He spits into the plant pot too. Oh, that's disappointing, but I suppose that it is Jeevas.

"I'm ready to go when you are," Stephen says to L.

"Now, then."

He's covered in Jeevas. It's beautiful. I could do it all over again. This is what my dick tells me. But he's leaving?

"So soon?" I ask antagonistically. I stand closer to L. I wish that Stephen had half a brain and could figure this out. It couldn't be more obvious. The possibilities of what I could do without people finding out seem boundless. I'm like god! But Stephen doesn't see that and ignores me completely.

"The flight leaves in two hours," he reminds L. What?

"Flying back to the motherland? Problem with your visa?"

"We're going to sort some things out," Stephen tells me reluctantly.

"Really?"

"You tell him," Stephen says to L gruffly.

"We're moving his things into my apartment in New York. I couldn't stand staying in Virginia. I have to shift the tenant out because he doesn't think I'm serious about him _having_ to move out. Like we won't notice that he's still there," L explains.

"And L's got to meet my family," Stephen smiles at me smugly. No, that can't be right. L doesn't do families. He's been avoiding mine for years. My family hate him, but still. L grips Stephen's arm while he gingerly bends to dust Jeevas off his shoes. He hasn't even laced his shoes up and I get another pang of remembrance low in my stomach. Bent knees and dry with ashes instead of wet and he nearly cried. I nearly cried. It's amazing that we can move at all. Why can't Stephen see this? Isn't it like a neon sign that I've just fucked his reason for living in a crematorium and he fucked me right back. Admittedly, it wouldn't be the first thing I'd think of if I was him, but L's dusty and I'm dusty. I _was_ dusty. Why is Kiyomi so fucking socially responsible? I desperately want him to know and I actually bite my tongue so I don't tell him right here and now. I remind myself: I am the Prime Minister, I am the Prime Minister, but I am also pure sex and it courses through me. Why can't Stephen see that? I made L bleed. I made L bleed and you can't hide that and now Stephen's taking him to meet his family around a lamb shank on a lace tablecloth?

"Yes, which I'm clearly thrilled about because that won't be excruciating at all; being asked thousands of questions by nosey people," L says. "We should just draw diagrams for them. I'll get my blood test results sent over, write a report, maybe do a pecha kucha presentation, it'll be fine."

"Bit too close to home?" Stephen laughs. Stupid bastard. He's angry for some reason but not with L, never with L. It's always someone else's fault and it's usually mine. I swear to God that the man has no personality or intelligence apart from what he leaches off L. He's accepted by association. I want him dead and ashes and I'll... No. I want him dead and I'll prop him up in the corner while I fuck L, so he can watch. Yes. Then I'll have him stuffed and make a lamp stand out of him. Put a fucking lampshade over his head and a light bulb in his mouth. Yes. Cut his cock off and make it into a very small draught excluder. Yes. Make his hand into an ashtray -

"Oh, you mean that I don't like being questioned because I'm used to doing it?" L asks him, then puts on a sarcastic display of finding it very funny, leaning on him to support himself before suddenly reverting back to being sullen. "So, it's a bit of a road trip. We're going to Kerouac around for a week," he tells me spitefully. "The flights are extortionate." You want me now, again, I know you do.

"We _could_ have taken economy," Stephen suggests. Oh my fucking GOD!

"You're joking again," L says. "I can't cope with how funny you are. Let's go then," he says, tipping the last drop of wine down his throat. "Don't bother Naomi. She's probably far too ecstatic to appreciate our condolences." They're already walking away. He's leaving, just like that. Stephen says: "I'll phone her before we go, I think," in English and L nods like he couldn't give a shit because he doesn't give a shit, but he's still leaving.

"Thank you for sparing me with your valuable time," I call out. They stop and look at me like I'm trying to give them a religious newsletter. I smile at L and just at L. "Will you call us when you get back? We could have dinner or... actually, L? We should take up tennis again, don't you think?"

"No."

And they leave without even a trace of good manners.

* * *

He spends more time out of this country than in this country. It must be for tax reasons. Beyond that, I don't really think of him much. Maybe all I needed was one last hurrah that will not be discussed on talk shows one day. I didn't even know that he had an apartment in New York. I'm having a new office built and it's very special.

So, it's all going well. My head is clear and pure and I work with demonic dedication. But a week and a half after the funeral, at two in the afternoon and after a very substandard 'gourmet bento' at a new fusion French Japanese restaurant which I don't think will be open for very long, the door to my office flies open.

"Don't say anything," L demands as he strides in.

My secretary stands just in the doorway in her satin blouse and looks like she's already receiving her reference, tax statements and good luck wishes for finding a new job after allowing someone to burst into my office unannounced. She doesn't know him. She's new here. She doesn't know that this isn't an unusual thing for him to do. I nod at her once in a relaxed way so she knows to shut the door rather than call security, then I stay in my chair behind my desk and watch him pace around my office like he's an anxious actor about to go on stage. He's angry about something and I really can't think what it is. I haven't done anything. He's brimming with the same furious aura as when he blamed me personally for the range and quality of meals, drinks and service on long haul flights in and out of Japan. But that was a long time ago.

"I was just walking past the House, as you do when you're looking for somewhere that sells milk in the government quarter, and I was stopped by the chief whip of the opposition," he says, still pacing. "Lapels, you know. Don't know his name, he knew mine. Apparently, I'm being head hunted. At first I'd completely forgotten and then I realised that, oh, I really _did_ resign, didn't I? My temper. You bring out the very worst in me. You're every good and bad person I've ever known. Whip boy was flattering me senseless and all but wrote a long number after yen symbol on a piece of paper before burning it, and it occurred to me: My God. I could have you. I could _have _you. Everything I know about you. That's why they want me; just to get to you, I'm not stupid. It's not for my charm and sophisticated air. Thing is, red is definitely not my colour."

"Have you come to ask for your job back?" I ask. "It's yours."

"I haven't. But, as I said, don't say anything. So, then I realised something else, and I thought: 'What a lovely day to have a Prime Minister on his knees.' This could all be so different. It hasn't escaped my notice that you've been stalking me. Well, as much as a Prime Minister can stalk someone. Have you hired a private investigator? You can answer," he tells me and stops moving around so he can see me reply. Good of him.

"No."

"Thought not. You're far too careful. Do you know that I'm paying Mihael to do absolutely nothing just so you can't get your nasty little hands on him? I am. He tells me that you offered him a job as your aide? I would have thought that you'd have plenty of those knocking about already. Is the PR mess mounting up, Prime Minister? And my office over there is all empty with _my_ aides trying to figure out what to do with memos when they don't even know how to zest a lemon properly. I should know. I hired them. They're useless. It's always surprised me that they can answer a phone. Why haven't you replaced me? No, don't answer that. Do you want to know what my great idea is?"

He stands in front of me and I'm starting to think that calling security would be a good idea. He's in one of those hyperactive, dangerous moods which usually builds until it's expelled by some act of violence or a sacking. Although I'm not entirely opposed to either of those things and could bring some people in who he could sack for me, I am on work time at the moment.

"Would you like a coffee?" I ask, looking into his manic eyes which look so large that they remind me of the petrol gauge and mileometer on my car. "With gin in it?"

"No!" he gasps excitedly. "Here."

He's pointing the floor, but then he flexes his foot and the leather of his shoe cracks and stretches. I'm confused and I must look that way.

"You said that you'd kiss my shoes if I wanted you to. I want you to kiss my shoes," he says.

"What?"

"There's nothing quite like having a powerful person willingly submit to you. What a hard on that would be; for them to debase themselves totally because I ask them to. And that's what I want you to do. If you did that, I'd have to give you some serious thought because, believe me, at the moment, I'm not. One of my many talents is the ability to walk away from things and people over and over again, but you really don't seem to be able to do that. I suppose it depends on how much you want it."

I laugh anxiously for several reasons. "L, I was joking."

"Oh. Ok. I misunderstood. That's fine."

Hold on, he's leaving?

"Wait," I blurt out, and only afterwards do I realise how that sounds. I don't want to submit. I think I've done enough of that recently, he's fucking insane and his shoes look like they're caked in shit. He walks back towards me and smiles like he's won already. I try to look hurt by the suggestion but it only makes him smile more.

"On your knees," he says, and bites down on his fingernail while he stares at me with his mad eyes and his mad face and his dirty shoes. I think about how well I've been doing. As long as I don't see him ever again and if no one mentions him and if I never see another dark-haired, tall man in a suit again, I think I'd be well on the way to a full recovery. But now I'm considering kissing his shoes for no reason. Scratch that, I'm on my knees and I don't look very happy about it, I'm sure. I look up at him as he looks down on me like he's Caligula and I'm some abused and fed-up servant. "I walked through a park just for you. Through all the dog shit and dirt and dead animals I could find, just for you," he whispers.

Oh God. I sigh loudly and I can't believe I'm doing this but it's either this or he goes and it doesn't really mean anything anyway. I'll wipe my mouth and it'll just be a memory. Swill my mouth out with antibacterial solution - it'll be ok. I'm sure that I've done worse. I must have done worse, but I was probably drunk at the time. I should be drunk. Maybe he'd let me have a couple of gins first? No, it's ok, I had a dead Jeevas in my mouth and everywhere else not even two weeks ago. You can't get worse than that. There is actually bird shit on his shoe. Oh, no.

"L -"

"Light?" he strings out expectantly, smiling down at me and rubbing his finger across his bottom lip. His eyes look like they're about to pop. "No chaste kiss, now. Do it like you mean it. My shoe loves you."

I feel sick every time I look at his shoes. I glance back up again at him in a last-ditch plea for mercy, but he's biting down hard on his finger now. Really biting it. It can't be that good. I decide to get on with it because I feel my gourmet bento rise up my gullet with every second that passes. I'm just making this harder for myself when I know that I'm going to do it. I lower myself down to the floor and feel my lips go thin as I press them to the vamp of his foot. My mouth is disgusted by me. It wants to disown me. How could I treat it this way? It wants to jump ship.

I sit straight again just in time to see L gazing into his phone dispassionately like he's been distracted by a text message during a boring conversation. He's taken a fucking photo, the bastard! I instinctively reach for his phone but he takes a step back and shows me the photo from where he is. You can tell that it's me. He's very good at cropping. My worst fears are confirmed. No one has hair like me and I've worn this suit before. It was in the paper.

"Ooooh. There's a scandal right there," L exhales. "There's your public execution right there. Imagine if this found its way into an editor's inbox."

He expects me to say something but I have nothing to say. This is a very, very bad moment for me. He crouches down to be on my level, with his phone dangling from his hand. It's last year's model too. Why can't he ever upgrade like everyone else? I'm going to make a grab for it but then he leans forward to speak to me so softly that I forget about the phone.

"Are you so scared that I'll go if you speak, or are you scared of what I'll do with this? No need to answer. This is what you're going to do. You're going to authorise Stephen's application. Ah, no. No words or lies from you, thank you," he hushes me when I immediately open my mouth to protest. "You're going to authorise it today. Sing his praises to immigration, hack it, I don't care. You're clever. Just do it, and quickly, otherwise I might find myself in America and there'll be no more Lawliet for you. But I might keep this and one day, when I'm feeling a little bit nostalgic, you might wake up one morning and find yourself splashed all over the papers. Don't worry, I'm not cruel. This could have been much worse for you, but I'm giving you a choice."

"What choice?"

"Do this, and I'll come back. In all ways. It seems like you're floundering, Prime Minister. The opposition's new ghost writer is pretty good, isn't he? You missed a week of work a few months ago. The press wondered where you were. Thought it was getting a bit much for you. They say that you're showing signs of strain around the eyes. Crows feet. And then you're seen with a bruised face. Oh dear. And I heard about the Cabinet meeting. That's really not like you at all. Sounds like you could do with some help. Someone needs to shut him down, and I happen to have a way to do just that."

What a shit argument. The Cabinet meeting was absolutely nothing. Tsukino has found himself a speech writer. He must have, because of the dramatic improvement. It's nothing I can't handle, but he wandered into my Cabinet meeting, insulted me and my policies in a wordy way and left before I could reply. Because he did manage to make his escape (because it did shock me - he can't string a sentence together normally), word spread that I was losing my touch. My wife's pregnant and I'm suddenly stupid as a result. I did think at the time that if L was there then he would have killed it, but then, I blame L for pretty much everything, ever. So, yes. It's a shit argument. And I don't have crows feet around my eyes.

He did say that he'd come back 'in all ways' though. He should clarify.

"I could shut him down myself," I tell him. Clarify.

"Hmmm... well. You don't even know who the ghost writer is. All those are complimentary extras on the table."

"How about you on the table?"

He grins at me. A sort of shit-eating grin.

"How about you on the floor?" he asks, and I smile back at him. He tilts his head to one side, like he does, but then I'm suddenly on my back. He's kicked my legs out from under me and I have no idea how! I don't think that's even physically possible! He stands and kicks me over onto my front, placing his hand around the back of my neck so the side of my face is flat to the floor. Everything reminds me of other times when he was playfully vindictive rather than vicious. "Face down, there's a good boy," I hear him say.

"No," I pant out from the pain in my side where he kicked me. I'm going to kill him.

"Humiliating, isn't it? When you're just some body. And that's not the worst of it, let me tell you. You would actually let me do it, wouldn't you? How times change."

He takes my hand and pulls back my jacket impatiently while I struggle like a fish on a hook. He must be looking for the cufflinks and he finds them.

"Ha! You must be in love with me or something," he says, flinging my hand to the floor.

As soon as I feel him leave, I see him walk around me to sit in my chair in front of me. I was going to tear at him but he looks so carefree as he bends over his phone and flips through the screen with one hand that it completely disarms me. He picks up my cooling coffee with the other hand.

"Well, depending on how quick you are with Immigration, I'm free on... Monday. No, Tuesday. How's Tuesday for you? Stephen's away until Thursday. It's his mother's birthday and you know how I don't do families. I came back home early on business. He knew I was lying," he smiles affectionately at his phone. "But you better not turn up without a his permanent status of residence papers, or you'll be something they'll have to scrape off the tarmac. So, Tuesday?"

"Ok," I sigh after a minute. He waits for my answer all that time.

"Pardon?"

"I said, 'ok'. Why are you doing this?"

"New York doesn't suit my temperament and, like you said, Stephen's very nice. Too nice sometimes. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. You said that too."

He looks almost sad then, like he did at the party before it ended. I don't even feel like have any control over myself as I kneel between his legs and reach up to kiss him lightly on the mouth with my eyes open. It's reverent, like I'm frightened. I'm just a worshipper at his altar and he knows this. He does nothing.

"Cash on delivery," he says. My hands fall to his feet as he stands. "Prove yourself to me. We'll see what happens."

He leaves then, and I'm left with what I've done. I did debase myself and I can't shake it away.

* * *

**AN/Disclaimer/Terms and Condition Apply**

Sunday! I cannot stop writing. Anything. On anything. On my face. On other people's faces. It's been noticed and I got seven moleskines for Christmas from different people. I'm so bonkers right now I can't tell you. I got promoted on Thursday because my boss is mad, so I went home and wrote this perversion instead of having a glass of champers like a normal person.

YEEEEAAAAH, like Light wasn't going to fuck it up again for luck and be all subservient. BREAK HIM! Light! No! Deep breaths! L's a bad bastard and he's far, far too weepy too much of the time in ff, in my opinion, because I'm opinionated. I'm all for L breaking Light. I like amping it up and I love Lawyer!L like a fictional brother I write the words for and I really wish he was on QI, but he's still a bastard. And I'm _so_ sorry about ash sex. Let's not think of the logistics of it. It just happened, I swear. I had absolutely no control over it and I'm sure you don't mind that I faded to a very, very dark black. My jaw hit the floor and I was silently screaming but my fingers had a life of their own. Like, that whole section right through to the very end made me feel a bit queasy. Jeevas needed a send off though. RIP Matt. He even dies in politics.

The immigration stuff is all rum baba I made up. I don't know much of anything about immigration, so I'm just twisting things to suit. No research for me.

Thanks again to thebarstool who had the idea of the funeral thrown at her and said that it might be OTT (it is, yes) but, as she says, she's an enabler and I feel very enabled by her enabling, so it's here. How we laugh. See 2012 out with a bang. She might change her mind now but I'm going to find a therapist in the new year and it really won't get much worse than this, I promise. Not expecting any reviews here. I don't even know what to say myself except sorry, but I just laughed the whole time. How long is this? Thanks for the reviews and I'm really sorry that I can't reply to guest ones but please know that I love and appreciate them and you. Have a Happy New Year.


	16. With The Sugar Sickness

**Chapter Sixteen**

**With The Sugar Sickness You Spy The Kidnap Kid**

* * *

I always wanted a future. A life with opportunities. When you're born with potential, as I have been, it's a crime to waste it. I understand L completely, like I said. He would and could ruin me. I don't want control over people; I want control over situations. In a wider sense, once you control an environment, you can't help but have an influence over people. I wouldn't call it subterfuge just because it's a medicine which is tasteless and easier to swallow. L is more for the brute force attack. It's quite fun to watch, but it must leave a hollow feeling. You never want it to be over, so you drag it out. L saw a storm in me, and that storm could break him. And I will.

We have to act the way we should.

At the end of a review for the press under the cherry blossom trees at the Kantei (just for a change of scenery), I was asked about Jeevas. The sun went behind a cloud, petals fell like snow around me and I brushed them off the arm of my jacket. Well. One life ends and it makes no difference to me. I didn't feel it happen and my life remains unchanged by his life and passing. Naomi phoned to tell us and she sounded almost relieved. I had a whiskey, even though it was before six, because after the week I'd had, it was a nice finish. Jeevas is a distant memory already to all who were unfortunate enough to have known him. His wife is shacked up with someone else, although they're trying to keep it discreet out of respect, which is something that they do not feel, and I despised him as though he'd murdered my entire family. I thought once that he either wanted to fuck me or be me. I almost wanted to suggest years ago that we should bang each other's heads against walls and tear each other apart from the inside. Sometimes I think of him at night. I have a picture in my head of him unconscious but propped up on a stretcher like he was awake, with wires running out of his arms. I wondered why they bothered. In my mind, he was always dead. He was nothing more than a nightmarish stain on the carpet which is hard to shift.

No. I made a statement on the podium and I looked sad and regretful. I spoke of friendships, the same old legacies and tragedies. I must have appeared to have meant it. The question is: why don't I mean it? Other people appear to care, but then, I appear to care. I don't care, and maybe they don't either, but it's considered to be the right thing to do. We should. Even for the lowest people who do despicable things. We should show mercy, but what is mercy but an egotistical self-indulgence? Pity, mercy, judgement are all the same, and everyone feels that they're worthy enough to bestow their opinions. I don't want to care. Why should I? And if I don't care, why is that wrong?

The conference ended and people stood up as I walked away. I have two lives. Two circles which connect and overlap. I built those lives, and between them is myself. I'm a tiny intersection which gets swallowed up by either side unendingly. I speak of Jeevas and I think of L. There's someone I really did tear apart from the inside, and he condescended to do the same to me. I think of myself as a hateful and glorious thing. I love who I am, I hate what I am, and L makes me see this gulf of feeling more than anyone else. He exposes the fragility and he laughs at it. He dares me to use it or lose everything.

So, Stephen has permission to stay. I'm not immune to blackmail and possibly empty promises. I'm going to use it and exploit every opportunity to a sadistic extent, if I can. The Light of four years ago would have.

Tuesday arrives, and I'm outside L's house at ten, by which time I'd psyched myself into a cyclical frenzy. The photo remains an issue, and it's the photo which convinces me to go. I don't feel so pathetic about going when it's because of the photo. I worked until eleven last night so I can take a day away from the office. My secretary looked thrilled by the idea, but tells me that it's because she thinks that I need a break. Maybe I do look tired around the eyes, but I can't see it myself.

I stopped a few hundred yards from his house at just before nine to decide upon my attitude. This also changes and fluctuates. I was going to put the papers through the letterbox and leave at one point, because he'd hate that. He'd be offended, he wouldn't be able to understand and I'd be happy in that knowledge. I don't want him, it's only because of the photo. Stephen can stay because of the complete absence of fucks I give. In my head, the Light of four years ago is laughing at me.

Now, I'm on his doorstep again. I feel repentant even though I'm not. It takes him five minutes to answer the door, and when he does, he looks cooly surprised and glances at his watch. I'm still too early. I thought it would seem businesslike but he's obviously not seeing it that way. The Light of four years ago is throwing himself off a building and I'd quite like to join him.

L holds his hand out to me expectantly and I give him the envelope from my pocket. Again, he looks surprised. He doesn't say anything, only tears the envelope open and walks back inside his house, leaving me on the doorstep, looking in. I follow him inside and shut the door behind me, walking slowly past the furniture and pictures I know from another house, until I find him standing near his office, skimming through the papers.

"You won't mind if I read this through," he says without taking his eyes away from what he's reading. It's not a question, it's a demand and I don't reply. "You know where the kitchen is," he says, and walks into his office.

I go into the kitchen, just because he told me to, and it feels oppressively domestic. There are novelty tea towels and there's probably a 'kiss the ex-CIA agent' apron somewhere. I bet he wears a fucking apron. I drift around like a ghost, following a path I'm familiar with, and end up in the room with the drinks cabinet instead. It's more L-like in here. Stephen obviously thinks that the fireplace is a practical thing because it's all prepped for yet another roaring fire. It's a wonder that he hasn't put a sheepskin rug in front of it. I open the drinks cabinet to check for the smell of smoke. It's still there. It's permeated the wood. I'm still there. L's vodka is still behind _Crimes Against Humanity_, so I pour some into a tumbler and keep walking around because I don't feel comfortable sitting down. The lake is completely flat like a mirror, reflecting the sky back up at itself.

A few minutes later, L walks in, dropping the papers on the table. His ease only makes me feel more awkward. He looks at me quickly while he pours some tonic water into a tumbler.

"Reintroducing yourself to Hephaestion again, are you?" he asks. I look around me, because I don't now what the fuck he's talking about, only to find L's kouros standing next to me, all grave and marble-eyed. "I'm surprised. This appears to be the real deal," L continues, inclining his head towards the papers.

"It is," I say. I feel angry but it doesn't show itself in my voice.

"Married life not suiting you then, Light? And now with a kid on the way. I can only imagine the horror."

No, it doesn't suit me. It doesn't suit Kiyomi much better, but it suits our image. I don't answer and he quickly loses patience.

"No chat then? Straight to business? Is that still part of the deal? Yes? No? Come on."

He puts down his glass and starts pulling up his sweater as he walks, revealing a disappearing tan on his stomach, and all of my dislike for him disappears. I think of him strolling a beach in France on a blisteringly hot day, laughing in slow motion when Stephen splashes water on him and B playing 'J'taime Moi Non Plus' on a wind-up radio under a parasol. Fucking bastards. But anyway, I always liked his abs because he's deceptively athletic. He definitely shouldn't crowd himself with bulky sweaters. He could wear a clingy fine rib if he's suddenly feeling casual and cold. Something with a V-neck. Ralph Lauren, maybe. Grey.

He catches me staring at his midriff as I drink my vodka like a man looking in the windows of a knocking shop in Amsterdam, stops, and lets the sweater fall back.

"Well I can't do it alone," he says moodily. "A contract is between two people, not me and my hand."

"No, I... I just didn't know what to say."

"Oh. So, what do you want? The photo?"

"I'd like it if you deleted it."

"I backup my files. A lot. Especially the important ones. It might take some time," he mutters, but pulls out his phone for starters.

"It's ok. Whenever."

"So, did I have a bath for nothing or what? I was expecting to waste so much time in the fucking bath today."

His bad moods are something that can be easy formed into something else, but now it makes me close my eyes and rub my forehead with my fingertips soothingly. It's not enough, so I pull out my cigarette case.

"That's it. Light up, Light," he sighs, and throws himself into a battered armchair. Nothing in this place matches.

"You look funny when you're not in a suit," I say. I smile at him. I'm so fond of him. It must show.

"Funny?"

"Stupid."

"Do you want me to put Dior on?" he asks, all cold and efficient like I've asked him to dress up as a schoolgirl and it's absolutely no problem at all, it's just part of the job. He puts his hands on each armrest to pull himself up.

"Stop talking like that," I tell him quietly. He falls back into the chair and I turn towards the lake. There's no movement outside at all. It's like one of those fucking awful paint-by-numbers pictures that you see in old people's homes.

"Like what?"

"Like..."

"Like this is a business transaction? It is."

"It isn't. And I don't like you acting like this."

"How would you like me to act? You mean like back in the day, when I liked you? I could do that. I have a memory."

"I just want you to be yourself."

"I _was_ being myself, but never mind. Look, I won't say that I haven't got all day, because I have, I've cleared my books. But I can find more interesting things to do than this; like scrubbing the bathroom floor. Are we doing this or what? I thought this was part of it. I thought that it was what you wanted."

"Not if you hate me," I say, blowing smoke against my dim reflection in the glass. Seeing myself makes me turn around to him again. "You don't have to come back. That's what I wanted to say. Not if you hate me."

"I don't hate you. Can I verbalise it?" he asks himself, looking up at the ceiling. "Let's see. I'm very angry with you. Yes. That'll do. Since I came back, I had a couple of blissfully uneventful months and then boom. You came back into it, determined to ruin my life. So, yes. I'm very angry with you."

"I only wanted you to..."

"You wanted me to be your casual fuck, let's be honest. Well, looks like you've managed it. Congratulations. I had no idea that I was such a prize."

"I don't."

"You don't? Oh! Has looming fatherhood changed your mind, like you said? Have you settled down to a lifetime of monogamy and respectability?"

"No."

"No. I thought not."

"I mean, no. I... missed you and -"

"My genitals?" he interrupts. The anger pools in my chest, quivering and building so quickly that I have no control over it.

"Don't make this so fucking difficult for me. Why do you always have to do that?"

"But you _did_ miss my genitals? I have something Kiyomi doesn't have, obviously. But you're making full use of what she does have. I should count myself lucky. If I had what she has, I'd probably have three children by now," he says, picking up his drink again.

"L. You know that I... I couldn't make it clearer."

"Yes, Light. I know that you love me, or as close to it as you can manage, and I should be honoured and leap into your arms, but I did that two weeks ago and, by the way, that was very underhand. Jeevas in a pot. How could I resist?"

"The only time you like me is when I don't seem interested."

"Which says a lot about my state of mind, doesn't it? Don't worry, I have thought about it."

"But I do like you. I don't want you to do something you don't want to do because deals and contracts are easy for you."

"Really?!" he laughs in shock, and I sigh and push the pad of my hand against my eye. "Oh, yeah, this is all very easy for me. I often whore myself out to get my boyfriend, manfriend, partner, whatever in the country. I really have to stop doing it. It's becoming a bad habit. But give me a contract and it's all just _fine_."

"I didn't mean that. I -"

"Can I just say something?"

"You interrupt me all the time anyway," I say and sulk. I'm allowed to sulk. I sit on his ridiculous recliner opposite him with Stephen's fucking papers on the table between us.

"You take long pauses between sentences and sometimes you don't finish them at all. It's annoying," he tells me. "I'd just like to say that it wasn't that you didn't seem interested, because you did seem interested. You're shit at chasing, Light, remember? You've never had to chase anyone before; everyone came to you. You chase goals, and they're relatively stationary and achievable. You don't need to chase people and, you poor idiot, I'm a really bad introduction, so you didn't do it very well. Your consternation at being replaced is overwhelming, because how can anyone replace you? I should be weeping into my sleeve for the rest of my life because of this fulfilling non-relationship that I've missed out on. It was because you were so desperate. Everything about you screams desperation."

"That's not true! You were all 'Noooo... Tell me it meant something!' and then with the fucking. That was you. I didn't force you; I just asked you to. And like I can be replaced by some man who makes Rive Gauche look badly made."

"I'm not getting involved in petty fights about who started what and when and whether Stephen looks nice in a suit or not. He does, for your information. But you're desperate, for whatever reason, and you're here for that reason, not the photo. You kissed my shoe. I almost felt sorry for asking. Not even a year ago, you would have laughed me out of the room if I'd tried that. You would have laughed me out of the room if I'd asked you to make me a coffee, never mind kiss my shoe."

"But -"

"But, let's see this as a deal between two contemptible people. We're used to deals, so we should feel right at_ fucking_ home."

"I don't want a deal."

"You want me to wuv you? Well -"

"L, I know that you love me. You told me," I say. I see a bowl that I don't recognise and it's too much like a holiday souvenir to be L's, so I stub my cigarette into it. He's quiet for about ten seconds, during which his tone has become more thoughtful and patronising.

"What's sweet about you, Light, is that you're so naïve. I always liked it about you - your ideals. Most people go through this when they're still at school, but you happen to be over thirty and Prime Minister. You're yet to be broken by the system, so I did it instead, and yet you retain your hopeful innocence. It _is_ quite sweet," he says, gazing into nowhere until he swallows his drink. "But you still think you know better than me. When I said jump, you should have jumped and high."

"I had to make my own decisions. I did everything right, apart from with you. I fucked up."

"Yes. You did," he nods, and I find myself gently nodding with him.

"I know that. I just want you to..."

"What? Finish a fucking sentence!"

"Like me," I breathe out. The Light of four years ago is shooting me in the head. I can't look at L, but I know that he's staring at me, and all I want is for him to say anything just to break the silence.

"Do you think that you can love a person without liking them?" he asks.

"Yes."

The leather of his chair creaks when he stands, and it makes me look up at him. He walks around the table and crouches in front of me. I feel tired suddenly, maybe because he's watching me so closely. I want to lean into his chest, like I used to, and he'd kiss the top of my head. Nothing ever seemed quite so bad then.

"When do you have to get back?"

"I don't. I mean, I don't think that anyone cares. No one cares about anything, really, apart from themselves. As long as I'm in work tomorrow."

"Oh. That's sad. You've made a very sad life for yourself," he says softly. He brushes his thumb just under my eye, but it's only for a second. His face hardens just as quickly, and he stands up again to walk towards the window, the lake and Hephaestion while he swipes his finger across his phone screen. "If you leave any time between now and three, you'll get back in forty-five minutes. It's quiet that time of day. She might not notice that you've gone."

"The guards will."

"The guards don't matter."

"That's what I thought," I smile at him.

"But you doubt yourself," he tells me, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Don't lose your purpose, Light. I made you for a reason."

"What are you talking about? You didn't..." I start to argue, but I stop.

"That's right, you should stop right there. We're not going to get along very well unless you recognise the debt of gratitude you owe me. A considerable debt."

"I know."

"But it doesn't mean anything to you. Not now. How's love treating you?"

"You're not treating me very well," I say accusingly.

"Do you know what I saw in you? I think that you should know."

"A storm coming."

"No. You were just someone who needed to be reined in and steered. I have a talent for spotting talent. Like Simon Cowell with better trousers. No one might see it or know that it's there, and it might not even _be_ there at the start, but I always find it. I do whatever I have to do to find it, and you needed breaking, my friend. Looks like I still have my touch, because look at you; you're a bit too talented. You don't need me anymore. You probably would have got here without me, but maybe not. And we're all fallible after all, even you. The hint of affection, the promise of love until you're used to it and you rely on it. It's a very human weakness; this need to share. You knew that it's a weakness. All it does is bring pain and mistakes, and only a stupid person would put themselves through that, right? That's what you thought. No choice but to close down or you won't get _anything_ done. Four years is a long time to work on someone, and you know that I always liked you. It's just the nature of the beast. I suppose that you have to love the thing you create. So, I guess that I won. You love me. Whoopdeedoo, I own you now. But you're hiding something from me still, and I will find out what it is. What made you think that to feel is to die? Maybe when I do find out, then I really will be done with you. God, I hope it's not boring, Light," he says, strangely tender again as he looks at me, but, again, it's fleeting. I can't take in what he's saying, but there's a grumble of hatred inside me because he's trying to take credit for me and what I've done. He scratches the inside of his wrist and looks bored already by this entire meeting and the sound of his own voice.

"A verbal contract will have to do. You'll say that you're writing a book. You have to work alone. You're going to buy that place in my name," he tells me, pointing in the direction of the house I'd rented. Shit, it was horrendously priced. It'll empty one of my savings accounts. Why can't he buy it himself? I just gave him eighty million yen two weeks ago. I'm probably doubling the value of his property. Bastard.

"You want me to buy you a house?"

"Yes. I wanted you to kiss my shoes, and you did it. Just like I want you to buy me that house and you're going to do that too. Tell everyone that you're renting it from me so that you have somewhere to work. Make sure that you tell them that that's where you go. Specifics ease suspicion. They won't check on you. But, that's just part of the problem, and it breeds another one. You _will_ have to write a book. Some autobiographical shit, if you like, because you're full of that. I didn't have much trouble finding a publisher. This is the best offer," he says, and takes a folded piece of paper out of his trouser pocket, which he shoots over the short distance to me like it's paper plane. I unfold it and I can't say that the number isn't flattering. There'll be pressure on me to donate it to charity though. How will I get around that? Profits from sales? A percentage of the profits from sales. I'm distracted by this, and he probably hoped that I would be.

"You knew that I'd do what you wanted," I say.

"Of course you would. So, that's your reason for coming here sorted. Who knows how long this book will take to write. I'll tell Stephen that I've bought that place because, well, I like houses, I don't like neighbours. In the summer, that place will be fucking awful. Golden retrievers and children running around like it's a Disney film out there. I'll tell Stephen that we fought about it, you and me, because you knew that I wanted to buy it but you refused to stop renting it, but he's not to mention it to anyone and it's all ok now. I'll tell him I lied about us having a bang in the good old days and about you being homophobic. He knows that I tend to embellish things when I'm pissed off. It's a shame that he's been taken as a mascot by Naomi and Kiyomi, because it only adds another complication, but these things happen. I can't emphasise how important it is that Stephen doesn't know about this, Light. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do you have any terms to add?"

"No."

"No? This is very much in my favour then, isn't it? I get a tiny house and everything."

"I told you that I don't want you to do this because of some bargain."

"You thought that I'd just scream 'Take me back!'? Pfff."

"No," I say firmly. "But this is -"

"What? Prostitution? Not really."

"I just want you to be with me because you want to be. This is too clinical."

"Dear little heart. Now, what else? I'm sure there's something. Oh! I'm not obligated to turn up on demand. I'll come over if it suits me. Is that less clinical for you? Get a new car. Dark windows. Only drive it when you're coming here. If the press see it so it's in the papers and then you're followed here then, fuck, we might as well just advertise it. Stephen knows that you drive that shitty gold Lexus."

"Bronze," I mumble.

"What?"

"My old Lexus was bronze. I have a new car now."

"Well, get another one. Think inconspicuous. Get a Honda Civic for all I care and hire a garage out-of-town or something. It's the secret mobile, ok? You'll park it in a lay-by like you're one of those mad rambling people in the forest, never leave it anywhere near the house. It's only until Stephen believes the story, maybe a month, and then you can ride a tricycle here if you want. It'll be my problem then, trying to find reasons to disappear. Christ, he needs a job. He has all kinds of secret agent shit in the spare room. I can handle him, just don't fuck this up because of your stupid vanity."

"I'm not stupid and I'm not vain either. You're preaching to the converted here, but I'm not vain and I'm not stupid and I'm not proud of this."

I feel completely drained. I want another drink and I want to switch all this off. L sits next to me and he does kiss my head but I don't feel any better.

"I know. I'm sorry. Come on now, I don't want a wet rag. I know you're a dirty little thing, and don't let love make you forget it. Remember why you didn't like me, I'm trying to show you. Do you even know why you do now?" he asks. I kiss him lightly on the mouth, not really hearing what he's saying. "Right. Deal?" he whispers. "Sure that you have nothing to add? Ok, let's go then. Stand up."

He pulls me to my feet but thankfully doesn't drag me after him like a kid with a teddy bear that's seen better days. I don't move, though he waits to see if I do before he comes back to me.

"Light, it was a dream, it wasn't real. You know that we're not like that."

How did he know that? I was thinking that it would be just like the dream; straight and boring in a boring setting with no props and that he'd laugh at me.

"How did you know that I was thinking of my dream?"

"I'm just clever, I guess."

"You're coming back to work?"

"We'll see. Let's say that this is a trial, because that's a whole other bunch of problems and things to explain to more people. You can send me some things, if you want. Unofficially. Oh, Light, you look like a child. Why won't you speak to me? Why won't you talk to me?"

"You talk enough for both of us."

"I talk but say nothing."

He leaves and doesn't wait for me this time. I'm expected to follow, but I stand there alone for a few minutes. Moving to another room seems too formal and awkward, but that's probably how he wants me to feel and I won't let him see that it bothers me. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I'm pale with... what? I think of the first time I fucked him. He looked at me and asked me if that was it. Was I done? I was horrified and deeply offended. It was impolite too, particularly since I had all but raved about him out of politeness. That's not how people are supposed to act. After that, I concentrated on him rather than myself. I'd just expected my presence to be enough, and people are supposed to take care of themselves, not be lazy and expect someone else to do it all for them. It had never been a problem before.

It's difficult to avoid looking at him when I walk into the bedroom, distracting myself with my tie and hanging my jacket on the back of a chair, hoping that the shoulders don't get distorted. He has the TV on a news channel, which is just another insult. I glance at him, and I can see that he's going to take a back seat for this one. He's lying on the bed, watching me, with a large flash of framed bright orange on the wall above his head. I fold my clothes and feel stupid for doing it. He always laughed at me and my fastidiousness, and his clothes were always in a heap on the floor and probably are now. I like to leave looking as I did when I arrive, but he never cared. I often thought that he was parading it, but no one ever knew that the creases in his clothes were there because of me.

I'm facing away from the source of the light which floods the room. One wall is plain glass without shame, and looks out over the lake. In another time, I would have asked him about it. Does this room really belong to the same man who wouldn't sleep without blackout curtains? Somehow it says more to me; about how changed he is. It says Stephen to me. Anxiety builds in my stomach and he says something about always prolonging the suffering and finding agony where there isn't any. I knock some splayed, discarded jeans off the chair, replacing them with my neat pile, and hear him laugh at my spite. He turns the TV off.

There's nothing nice about this. It's as close to signing a form at the bank as I can think of. There'll be no build-up. I never needed it, which he always took as a compliment, though he shouldn't have really, and he doesn't seem worried. He doesn't need anything, apparently. Nothing easing and slick, like he's not expecting any discomfort, but maybe he's dealt with that already. He just leans back and spread his legs for me. Fine, fine. Let's make this as unpleasant as humanly possible. I pull him towards me, his eyes widening, disgusted by how unceremoniously rough and emotionless I am as I press my fingers into the hollows of his knees. He doesn't make a sound and neither do I. We accept the situation. I decide to treat this mechanically and spare him nothing. He always liked it when he had something to counteract. My lips part when I enter him. It's not yielding like Kiyomi, since there's an element of force and brutality. He grips my arm as a reflex and I smile through my closed eyes.

His skin is like I remembered. I think of it soft, smooth, taut and tapered under a powdering of ash, backlit almost by creamy, barely tanned whiteness which I could hardly see, not like now in broad daylight and with that vast lake reflecting all the grey sunlight inside. I wish that there was a mirror so I could watch myself. Watch us. The veins are raised and swollen on my hand and arm like I'm tourniqueted by my tight hold on his hips. He's talking and won't stop talking. It comes out in interrupted exhaling breaths and sighs. I answer him in the same way, but incautiously, giving only the easiest of answers. I want to blank his words out, and I realise that I want him to be silent like a corpse or a convulsing thing in the throes of death, white and bloodless like he is.

"Did you miss me?"

"Yes," I breathe out, as rushed as his words are as I shove at him against the bedsheets. He blinks slowly with every push, pulling back from it and then rising towards me. He questions me like I'm on the stand. Like all his questions are burning him as he tries to fill a void of an answer to a larger question he's never asked.

"Are you in love with me?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I love you."

"Always slow," he smiles. As I look at him, my damp hair falls in my eyes and stings. My finger crushes next to a teal line under his skin.

"Are you jealous of Stephen. Light. Are you?"

"Yes."

"Do you hate him? Because he's done this to me, you know."

My mouth is dry and the loathing seizes and binds my throat and chest while he looks at me, thrilled and expectant. I hate him I hate him I hate him I grab the bones of his hips and drive into him so hard that it makes him cry out. I grin as his head is thrown back and his spine curves in pain. He never cries out. I always wanted him to but not if I'm hurting him. I say that I'm sorry and stop. I pull him towards me to kiss his cheekbone, leaving a trail of silver behind it. He turns to look into my eyes again and strokes my back with his thumb as he grinds against me.

"Don't say sorry, don't say sorry… Everyone's dead to me… Do you... Do you think that I compare you with him?"

"Shut up, L," I say raggedly and press my forehead against his. I feel his open mouth dragging over mine.

"Maybe I compare you with everyone I've ever had."

"Stop talking."

"This is shit, Light… Shit... It's just like your dream."

"Shut up!" I bellow at him, feeling my lips curl back from my teeth. I lean back again as I fuck him harder, but it's not enough for him. He twists his head to one side as he looks at me and groans, looking insane with hysteria.

"Limp and nothing!" he shouts back at me. "I feel nothing… I'm comparing you with Stephen _right_ now."

I feel so angry I could kill him or anyone. His face is clammy and dewy with sweat, and looking much younger than he is, so I look at his chest instead like I'm apologising. He clutches at the backs of my thighs to pull me closer.

"Is this real, Light?" he asks me huskily, and I close my eyes and try to concentrate on the tightness instead and just that, like I used to. "Maybe it's not real."

"Shut up."

"Maybe it's all in your head… Because you're mad."

He's smiling at me and rasping words out like _he's_ mad. His eyes are wide and liquid and shining with contained laughter. My chest heaves as I pull him towards me so the weight of being upright and with me fully and deep inside him wrenches a cry from him again. I just want to hear him scream and stop talking.

"Stop it," I tell him and try to kiss him.

"Why are you so fucking frightened!? You're not frightened," he hisses. "I made you what you are."

"You did not make me!"

"Wake the fuck up!" he screams right into my face so it rings in my ears. The hatred burns on my tongue and all through me. I throw him back down on the bed and thrust into him so savagely that he can't talk, he can't breathe, he can't see and I don't care if I'm hurting him. I strike into him as hard as I can. His heels dig into my back and I watch his face fall loose and cringe with every move I make. I feel no pity. I feel only anger and pleasure and cruelty, which is so intense that I think that's all I am. He opens his eyes only slightly and grips my hair with one hand.

"That's my boy," he sighs, like it's a dying breath, and with so much affection. I haven't seen that for so long that suddenly I want to come from that alone, but I can't lose this yet; I know what happens afterwards and I want to stay like this. On the table are my cufflinks with inlaid gold letter L's.

His smile is interrupted by moaning panting breaths. "I saw you at a funeral and I saw God," he tells me. I squeeze my eyes shut and point my face towards the ceiling while his muscles claw at me.

"Yes."

"Are you God?"

"I'm God."

"You're his mouthpiece… God speaks through you."

"Yes."

"But who made God?" he asks. His voice is so low and perfumed like musk. I want to fuck him blind. Until he'll never think or speak or move again, and neither will I.

"No one."

"There's always a beginning."

"God is eternal," I groan.

"There's no such thing… Who made God? Light? Who made God?"

"He made himself."

"No... Who made God?"

"You made me," I say and kiss the inside of his arm, which is wrapped behind my neck; the only part I can reach with my lips.

"Yes... I found you."

* * *

He stops talking and I lose time. There's no place for it. After we've seized, we slack and relax so quickly. I collapse on top of him while he strokes and pinches at my hair. I know he's just picking at strands and making spikes out of them with the sweat and who knows what on his fingers, only to smooth them down again. I press my face into an oceanic taste of the dipping flare between his throat and chest and listen to us breathing madly, trying to get air inside ourselves again to try and replace what we've lost.

"Are you ok?" he asks me, like it was a gentle and romantic moment shared in a tartan clad room. I think of his white neck arching against the pillow of almost equal whiteness. The blotches of red. Of him asking me if I was God.

"Absence makes the dick grow harder," I laugh back, just about. He slides away, so I roll onto my side to look up at him. He laughs until it passes into a smile.

"Oh, you're different now," he says, so faintly that it makes me ache.

"In what way?"

"I can just tell."

He's still struggling to breathe as he turns from me and stands to face the window. I can't imagine moving right now and I feel like I've failed because he's still able to move. I fight away thoughts that it _was_ part of a deal and he just wanted it over with. That he did feel nothing. That it was just like my dream.

"Where are you going?"

"Fucking swans."

"What?"

"There are swans," he says, facing the lake. "They go and they come back to wake me up in the morning. I won't be long."

I think that maybe he's going to kill the swans, especially when he's gone for over ten minutes. He saw me at Aizawa's funeral and he saw God. I am God. I'm atrocious. I smile to myself and draw a sheet up to my chest to doze for I don't know how long, and I can't remember the last time I did that, especially at this time of day. When I eventually wake up, it's because of a shrill buzz from a phone. I open my eyes to see L rushing into an adjoining room, and then hear his voice, pausing and then speaking again in a low echo which bounds around him and through to me. I lie on my side, looking at the lake, and see a couple of the swans he mentioned. They just glide around. Life must be as boring for them as L's conversation sounds to me. I hear running water and think that he's having a piss, but unless he's developed prostate trouble, he must be running a bath. Like such a luxury is going to happen any time soon.

He's quiet for minutes at a time, occasionally droning in agreement to whatever's being said to him, or asking what the weather's like today. I feel so hypersensitive to the sound of his voice and everything about him, and this is what I wanted, I suppose, but then I remember what he said and how he acted, and I thought that he was mad. I feel strengthened from it, because I always thought that I was the mad one. I'd say things and make him angry and he'd slam me into the mattress, but this was the other way around. And it hurt; what he said. It hurt at the time and I just wanted him to be quiet or say other things. I wanted him to scream. But now's the time to reflect. I hate these moments. L called it 'la petite mort' once. When it had a name, I felt it all the time.

"Did she? That's nice. I should have bought her jewellery... It's not try hard with my credit card. Never... Two cakes, eh? See, if I'd known that then I would have stayed... Oh, nothing. Weather's shit. The swans are back, so I guess that I'll be up at five tomorrow again... Yeah... I don't know, I'll check. No, they're all there still. Were there seven last time?… Yes, there are still seven. I wish that you had your gun here. There might be a few less then. You'll have to teach me… Yes, I'm joking. I thought they were supposed to be in pairs, not a pack of them… Ahhh, no, no, don't tell me, I know this. Hold on, I'll look it up... No, I do know it. I've just forgotten."

He appears in the door and stops when I smile at him. I think that I curl and twist lazily on the bed in a winning way. If I saw me, I'd probably put the phone the hell down, but it only makes him stop for a second. He looks confused that I'm still here, or here and smiling. He just looks confused. With a phone pressed to his ear, he walks to his laptop by the window and searches for something while I watch him. It's kind of ridiculous watching a naked man who's looking at things on the internet.

"Oh, a lamentation of swans… No, I'm not sad; that's what it's called. That's the best name I found anyway," he tells the phone as he walks back into the other room. I make a 'humph' noise and look back at the swans. Stephen.

"Not bad, no… Well, I have some work to do here so it's not really a day off... I'm _not _slacking… What time is it over there?… And it's a day behind where you are… Or I'm a day ahead, yes. God, I bet you're pleased that you took time out for this exciting conversation… Do you?… Stephen, I'm sorry. For not being there... No, I just wanted to tell you. I'm glad that you're having a nice time though… It's ok, I know they didn't like me. It shows that they have very good taste… Ste -… Oh, well, I know _that_. That's just obvious. If I send them my bank statements and property portfolio, do you think they'd like me then?… They don't, you're ignoring the truth again. No one's good enough for their little boy… Stop trying, it's ok! I'm used to it and I expected it. As I say, it shows good judgement. I'm going to let you go now, so… No, I'll call you tomorrow. It makes more sense because I don't know when I'll get back… No, no, I've got Mr Knife His Wife tomorrow, calling direct from the sunny confines of prison. He's got a bail appeal hearing next week... Are you kidding? He's one of the richest men in the country... Your flight's not back until ten is it?... Well, there you go... That's lovely, but you don't have to say goodnight to me; it's not even noon here. I'm not going to sleep but it sounds like you need to. Go to bed and I'll speak to you tomorrow… I might do. I might throw some of that gorgonzola into the lake and poison the swans, but I'll find something more exciting to talk about anyway… Are you saying that I'm boring?… Good. Yes, yes, bye."

The phone beeps in the bathroom and then it's quiet. He wanders back in and puts the phone in its cradle and stares at me, raising a nervous hand to his face. I want to tell him what a fantastic liar he is, because it has always fascinated me. Most people overcompensate, but L becomes so mundane that you wouldn't even suspect him even telling the slightest untruth, never mind that he has me in his bed. I used to think that it was despicable once, but then I saw it as an art form. He should host classes. But he looks serious and prosecutor-esque, and I don't care that he spoke to Stephen within half an hour of being with me, and that he lies, and that he's cruel.

"Come back here," I say. He climbs in next to me, all white flanks, and bites his thumbnail as he looks at me. I take in the strange angularity of his shoulder, the little rock pool at the base of the throat, the worry on his face which is framed by a crazy nest of hair. I pull his thumb away and kiss his mouth instead. "Don't feel guilty. I was here first," I whisper, but his eyes look even more dark as he sighs in frustration.

"Light, I'm not the North Pole."

"Ha! I'm only saying that you shouldn't feel guilty."

"You would say that."

"Yeah, I would. Ok. Feel guilty."

"Do you mind? I'm trying very hard to hate you."

"Oh, don't hate me," I smile at him and kiss the corner of his mouth. He flinches, and I think that once, when he said or hinted that he hated me, I'd get a hard-on. I move my lips across the the mild roughness of his cheek, feeling the muscles move beneath as he speaks.

"When you're nice to me, because it's so rare for you, it means more to me than if it comes from someone who's nice to me all the time. Is that or is that not fucked up?"

"I wasn't being nice."

"You were. Maybe you're turning into one of those _nice_ people. What have I done to you, Light?" he asks. I stretch out my neck from side to side before I reply, still smiling.

"I don't know."

His lips part and my eyes flicker down to them. I wonder at the intimacy now, when not that long ago we were shouting at each other and he looked at me with incredible disdain. Now he looks at me with such precise evaluation that I feel self-conscious instead of proud.

"Still beautiful," he says at last. I laugh.

"The crows feet aren't ruining it for you then?"

"_I_ never said that you had crows feet."

"You did."

"No, I was relaying reports in the paper. You should have someone in PR knock that sort of thing on the head. It's very damaging."

"And which paper was this?"

"I really can't remember," he smiles at me.

"Strange that."

"But I can confirm that they're false reports, depending on how I feel about you at any given time. Right now, the country has no need to panic and the conventional among us can continue to admire and be envious."

"I don't think you know what you look like."

"Well, you told me that I looked like something out of a Tim Burton film, and that was quite complimentary for you."

"Ha. Y'know, I said things then that sound stupid now."

"Have I suddenly improved?"

"No, you've always been this way. I couldn't paint your face with words."

"Smiles and sonnets. Where are your smokes? In your jacket?" he asks, standing up again. For fuck's sake. He starts rummaging around and finds the case, but carries on going through the pockets.

"Why did you say those things?" I ask, propping myself up on my elbows.

"Where's your lighter? Oh. Never mind, I found it. God, this is fancy. Is it real gold?"

"Yes," I answer as he flips the lid of my lighter to burn the tip of a cigarette which hangs perilously in his mouth. He throws the case and lighter on the bed. He never smokes a cigarette which isn't someone else's. This is bad.

"L, why did you say those things?"

"Actually, I better check on the bath."

"No… that would be a waste of time."

"Oh, really? Are you planning a test of stamina?" he smirks from the doorway, veiled by smoke. I let myself fall back on the bed.

"Mmmm… just give me a minute and I'll be right back."

"Hah. Give me a shout when you're ready then," he says, and disappears from sight again. I grumble to myself as I kick my legs over the edge of the bed and follow him. He's crouching on white tiles at the side of a bath, sniffing from a bottle and then pouring whatever it is in the water.

"L, why did you say those things?" I ask again.

"There's a code of practice I adhere to and I expect others to do the same. What happens in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom. And now we're in the bathroom," he smiles at me.

"That's going to take a while to fill up," I say, walking up behind him to point at the bath.

"We should be civilised and have a cup of tea while we wait," he suggests. When he turns back to me, he finds me sitting on a bathmat on the floor behind him. "You're on the floor."

"Mmmhmmm."

"It's not a very comfortable surface."

"It's ok. You can sit on me. I'm a comfortable surface."

"My brain says 'cup of tea'. The arrangement says 'ok'."

"Tell your brain to fuck off," I say, and he smiles like I do. He runs his hand along my thigh, which makes a soft sound like air rushing past.

"You should sit on me, otherwise I'm not being a very considerate host, am I?"

* * *

I don't think that I've ever been so completely fucked, and still the pangs come at strange moments, like when L's bending over to look inside the oven. It's stupid that we're dressed and I'm sitting at his kitchen table. It's now five o'clock, and I haven't got any intention of leaving yet. I'll text Kiyomi and Head of my Security and tell them that I'm with L. It's not a lie. I just won't explain why. Kiyomi will be pleased because she's been saying that I need him back in PR. I needed to get Stephen his papers because she likes Stephen.

So, there we were on the rug in the bathroom. He tasted of ash and smoke and he said that he wanted to show me something. Well, he was naked, I was sitting in his lap and I've seen everything before anyway, so I didn't take much notice. But then he told me to calm down, or, in his words: "Fucking hell, Light, calm down!" I listened to him then. He told me to stop, which is murder, really; that's not what you want to hear, but, fuck, thank God he did it. Apparently you can keep that shit going for hours, although he said that after four hours, something might drop off.

"Can I show you something? I would have done it before but… Fucking hell, Light, calm down."

"What is it?"

"Stop. Ah. No, stop. Just stay... What do you feel?... It's denial... You should feel this, Light. You should feel this... Stop... I forgot what you felt like."

"This is... Wooo. Ok... Why didn't you do this before?"

"You can't do this with just anyone."

"I made you bleed."

"Yes."

"And Jeevas."

"Jeevas."

* * *

I get home at ten. All the way home I think of his face when he stood at the door and I was on his doorstep. I think he knows now. I think he's sure. I wanted to see him tomorrow and he played coy with his supple back under that sweater. I didn't mind if he wore a sweater, did I? No, I didn't mind. I want one too, just like his. I want to wear his clothes. God, I'm such a mess. He texted me at midnight. I was surprised.

Everything I feared might happen has happened. Now I think that if he was around as often as possible – back in PR all day, every day and I knew he was there – then I wouldn't be such an idiot. But no one could say that it's affected my work. I feel dreamlike, foggy, like I haven't slept enough. I smile a lot and I think that it frightens people. No one smiles here because it's supposed to be serious, and if you smile then you're not serious enough. At twelve, I'm out of the building (my new office is nearly ready. It took longer to get planning permission than it did to build the fucking thing), then I'm out, in my car and gone. Infiniti tried to give me a car for advertising purposes - official endorsement, something like that - but I took an LF-LC. I've stayed with Lexus; I always have. I'm very friendly with the CEO and it's another prototype. They've been awarded 'manufacturer of the decade' and their concept range is lightweight carbon fibre and a full hybrid system unique to Lexus, featuring an efficient cycle combustion engine and a twin 12.3 inch LCD navigation display and I don't really care at the moment. It's black.

I've been to L's firm headquarters exactly once and for exactly two minutes. No one knew who I was then, and no one asked if I wanted a coffee. Now, as soon as I walk in, there are two suits walking beside me being overly friendly, and a woman in a pencil skirt brings me coffee whether I want it or not, like she was expecting me. I tell them that I've come to see L. This is where it changes. They look concerned and one suit asks if I have an appointment. L sparks terror in his subordinates and they'd rather upset the Prime Minister of the country than him. I'm guided towards some kind of VIP lounge, but I don't stay there long because I have to be back at my desk in one hour. I'm followed as I climb the stairs, like I'm an invader and they don't quite know what to do. I spot Mihael on the seventh floor and the world collapses around him. Wherever he goes, I always turn up and ask him where L is.

"Mihael, where's L?"

He points, bewildered, towards a glass door. I recognise L's secretary from his numerous descriptions. She really does look like an emu.

"Lawliet, please," I say simply.

"He's... errr..."

"Don't make me wait. I've had enough of that."

And in that succinct remark, I confess everything I've hated about my life so far, to a stranger. A stranger who looks like an emu.

"Sorry. He's on the phone," she says, pointing at a red light on a black breeze block on her desk. I smile and she melts into a thousand starstruck drops.

"Tell him I'll wait."

After taking a seat opposite her desk, I look at the ceiling, flicking my finger up my neck and off my chin over and over like a clock counting the seconds. I glance towards her again and feel myself go cold, since she's still just staring out me with her mouth open. It shocks her into walking towards yet another frosted glass door. She knocks timidly, L's voice booms out a "WHAT?" and my balls feel like granite. I will see fucking satisfaction again.

"It's... um. The Prime Minister's here to see you," she tells him meekly from the door. I don't hear his reply. "Oh. Ok." She turns to me but I'm already standing. "Let me show you in, Prime Minister."

He looks shellshocked but he's in Dior. God.

"Prime Minister," he says.

"Lawliet-san."

"Can I help you?"

"I need a lawyer," I say breathlessly, as if the run up seven flights of stairs has just caught up with me.

"Oh."

"Or a barrister."

"I'm a barrister. Thank you, Chiyo." His secretary disappears on command but he's still looking at me with a phone in his hand. I walk towards him. Fuck, this is a big office. "Is it urgent," he asks.

"Very."

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Yes, I'm in a lot of trouble."

"What kind of trouble are we talking about?" He's wearing a silver Hermes heavy silk tie. The one with the logos. You can't get that tie anymore - it was limited edition. It's too formal to wear to work but... oomph.

"Homicide," I tell him.

"That's a coincidence. I specialise in homicide."

"Will you take on my case?"

"Who have you murdered?"

"I don't know yet, I haven't decided."

"At least you'll be prepared. I always admire forethought in a person."

"I just need representation. I need it very badly."

His mouth is immediately glued to mine. I force my way in with an insistent tongue and moan with contentment. That tie is a fantastic thing. The weave of it all twisted in my hand is beautiful. Then he pushes me back.

"Oh _shit_, I'm on the phone!" he gasps, lifts the phone to his ear and walks into another room. "Hi, sorry about that. Yes. Yes, I can do Friday but it'll have to be in the afternoon -"

I sit down and lean right back until all the blood rushes to my head instead of somewhere else. A few minutes later L reappears the door and I smile at him upside down.

"Hello," I say.

"You're here."

"It's my lunch. When's yours?"

"I'll take it now!" he exclaims with wide eyes.

"Brilliant."

"No, wait, I can't take it now," he says and walks around me, so I sit up to see him as gravity intended him to be seen. "You can't just turn up like this."

"You've been turning up at my office whenever you feel like it for years."

"Yes, but that's me!"

That's it. I really have had enough now. I stand up and he looks terrified.

"I've come here for you, Mr Lawliet," I tell him slowly.

"Jesus, don't talk like that. I have a phone meeting with a client in a minute."

"Postpone."

"I can't postpone. He's allowed one phone call a day at half twelve and that's it."

"How is that my problem?"

"It's not. It's mine."

"You're making it my problem."

"You're going to sit there," he tells me forcefully, but not without a degree of panic. "Sit!"

"Why?" I ask, walking towards him again. He backs away but at some point he's going to hit a wall.

"So I can talk to you like you're a human being," he says.

"Because you don't do that normally?"

"No. You're becoming a sex object to me. I don't want to objectify you."

"Fuck's sake, objectify me."

"No!" he shouts, pointing back at the chair which I've left way behind me.

"Really. I want you to. Go right ahead and knock yourself out."

"Stay right there!"

"And knock me out while you're at it."

"I'm a professional!"

"So am I."

"You're not. You're a wanton slut, that's what you are."

"I can be both."

"No, you're in the wrong industry!"

The phone rings and we both launch for it, but he gets it first. He sits in his chair behind his desk and I kneel between his legs while he listens to someone who sounds like they're ranting at him. I take his shoe off, pull down his sock (Pringle of Scotland 100% cashmere and they fit perfectly around his ankles like a second skin - good man) and kiss his foot. He takes a sharp intake of breath and my lips curve into a smug smile.

"Wow," he says. "No, sorry. I was talking to myself about my coffee."

"Remember when I did this? Remember when I kissed your shoe?" I whisper. He looks at me unblinking and frozen as he talks into the phone.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Do you remember when I licked Jeevas off the back of my hand like he was lime after a bad tequila, and then I kissed you?"

"Oh, sorry. It's a bad line. Who's been pissing in your orange juice?" he says to the phone, agitatedly swallowing.

"I bit your tongue and sucked the blood."

"Well that's not very nice, is it? We'll mention it at the hearing."

I run the palm of my hand up the zip in his trousers, feeling a little bored. "I don't mind if I'm objectified. I'm used to it. I don't mind as long as you're the one doing the objectifying."

Some danger warning must be triggered when I lean forward, because he stands up again suddenly and walks into that other fucking room, closing the door. I think that he locks it, so I crack my neck to one side and consider the pitfalls of being an object on a lunch break. A few minutes later I hear the click of the lock and he comes back inside, stony faced and resolute.

"We need to go over terms," he says.

"Do we?"

"They're very relaxed as it is and you're taking up a lot of my time."

"Like I used to?"

"Yes. But worse."

"Come back to work."

"No."

"You said that you would."

"Not yet. It's too early. What about the trial? We agreed upon a trial."

"Trial's over. I want you to see my new office as soon as possible."

"You have a new office?"

"It's very special."

"Light, you have to go."

"It's artistic."

"When Stephen's back tomorrow, this has to cut back by a lot. A 100% cut. I'm very angry with you."

"Are you!?" I gasp. That's excellent news. Only good things come from that.

"Yes, but not in that way. As far as Stephen's concerned, I'm very angry with you. We have to become friendly again slowly."

"I think we messed that bit up."

"No, for Stephen, when he comes back. I'm a liar and you're not bad at it. Don't underestimate him or anyone else, because that's when mistakes happen. I'm getting him a gun license while he's away, now that he's staying. If he gets hold of a gun, I don't want to think what he'd do with it if he suspected anything."

"I'd love him to shoot me," I gasp again. My face feels open with the desire and horror.

"He might shoot me instead. Honestly, he's quite scary sometimes."

"He could shoot both of us!"

"Light..."

"Really. Imagine it. Some pap would get in and take a photo and we'd be in the paper. Blood everywhere. They'd have to prise us apart at the morgue. God, imagine it!"

"I think you imagine too many things."

"You're so far away."

"Yes, and I'm staying that way. You have to leave."

"Why?"

"Because I'm working."

My sigh seems to come from deep within me and every part of me is in agreement that this is disappointing. I'm running out of time and this is disappointing.

"I was going to ask you out for dinner," I say, dusting down my trousers as I stand. "Lunch and dinner. But dinner might actually involve food."

"I..."

"If it helps, I could invite some other people."

"Like your wife?" he asks.

"No, she won't leave the house after dark. Her ankles swell up and she can't wear heels."

"So she can't leave the house?"

"She just doesn't want to. She watches a series about pageant queen toddlers instead."

"Oh."

"I could invite Sayu and Touta."

"Shit, no."

"And Mikami and Naomi. I think they're being seen in public together now. Her husband's been dead for two weeks."

"But Naomi and Stephen are -"

"We're only having a friendly dinner," I interrupt him. "It's perfectly innocent."

"I know."

"But if you don't get invasive under the table then I'll be very upset."

"Ok."

"Please invade my personal space."

"Don't come any closer!" he shouts, lifting his palm up to me like he's directing traffic. "I'm very intent on working and keeping my trousers on."

"You don't have to take them off. I can work around them."

"No. No. You're not going anywhere near me and my trousers. You're the Prime Minister. Get back to work and ministrate in a primely way."

"But you _will_ have dinner later?"

"If you're paying."

"I don't have to pay. They feed me for nothing at The Blue Note."

"The Blue Note?"

"It's in Minato."

"I know where it is. But they have jazz," he says. God, he's right. And it's bad jazz. L knows that I hate it. I've tried to like jazz, I really have. It's thought of as being an executive's hobby to have an appreciation for senseless noises that sound like someone filling up a dishwasher.

"It's a price we have to pay," I sigh. "We'll go to Kozue then."

"They're closed on Wednesdays."

"_Fuck_, so they are. Aronia de Takazawa's? They'll shift reservations for me."

"I don't care where we go."

"The Blue Note then. I'll pick you up from here at five."

"You don't finish work until half five."

"Six then."

"Seven."

"Fine. L, you should see my new car. Properly."

I sound stupidly eager and teenage, although when I was a teenager, I was as serious and exacting as he is now. He walks towards me, but closes some files and books on the desk as he talks to me.

"I'm sure that I will one day, but I'll meet you there."

"I could just pick you up, it's easier and then you could have a -"

"I'll meet you there if I feel like it, or I won't go at all," he breaks in. "Those are the terms."

"You _will_ be there though. I just want to understand you."

"But to be understood would make me dead," he smiles in return. My eyes kiss his face as we look at each other. I wish The Arcadia Room hadn't closed down, but it was shit.

"Yeah," I reply.

Smothered.

* * *

He hasn't turned up at the restaurant. I've sat through jazz and conversation for nothing. I was going to take him to another table and talk about my tax bill with him, to see what he thought. I might listen to him, even if his opinion is different from mine. I probably wouldn't take any notice, but I'd listen. We could talk about my plans for changing the judicial system and I could rub his leg while I'm at it, but he doesn't turn up, and I'm left with Naomi and Mikami and Sayu and Touta – two couples that don't mix well. My meal tastes like woodchips. I think of visiting my parents, except that my mother would talk about babies. It's hard to catch them individually now that Dad's retired, and of course I'm far too busy being married and guardsman of the country, so I don't see them often. I could take Dad to the lake one day. I wonder if he likes fishing.

My coffee has just arrived and I get a text message from L. He says that I have to do something about cleaning Tokyo's alleyways. He's gone mad again. No, _he_ must be in an alleyway. I'm going to check some alleyways and see how dirty they are and do something about it. I'll mention it in The House, maybe. I must investigate this dreadful problem. Thank God that L brought my attention to it. I must thank him.

I make my excuses and wet my mouth with a gulp of coffee before I leave. Even though they haven't spoken to me much, since Sayu's talking about IVF, they all look devastated to lose the one connection they have in common. I don't give a fuck.

There are two alleyways either side of the restaurant and one is indeed very dirty, but there's no L, only a cat which winds between my legs. The other alleyway is just as dirty and dark as the last one, and I trip over empty boxes and things I can't see. I hear water dripping down the walls and I think it likely that I'll be mugged very soon. But why would I be caught dead in a place like this? Gossip would run about how I was looking for trade or something, which wouldn't be entirely inaccurate, but still. Suddenly, a bright light shines in my eyes. It's lowered, and after I've recovered from the blindness, I see L standing behind some waste containers, drinking something through a straw.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing," he says, graciously taking a breaking from sucking noisily. "Fancy seeing you here."

"An alleyway? Why didn't you just come inside?"

"It's too early to start socialising with the masses. Do you want to finish my milkshake? It's the finest from McDonald's."

He holds the cardboard heart attack out to me so that I scowl at it and what's around us by the light from the torch on his key fob.

"You take me to such nice places," I sigh.

"This is the natural habitat of the depraved," he explains, looking pretty depraved.

"Oh? Let's have a look around then."

"There's not much to see apart from me."

"Let's have a look at you then."

"That's a different suit. You weren't wearing that before." He points at me. Yes, now you mention it.

"This is what Rive Gauche_ should_ look like," I say snidely, turning my phone on to have a closer look at my surroundings. It's not very pleasant. I hear a sharp thump and turn back to see that L has smacked himself in the centre of his chest, pressing his hand there like he's been winded or has some kind of acid reflux.

"Oooh, right in the heart," he says. His teeth catch the light from my phone as he smiles, and I walk towards him, shrugging my shoulders at how inadequate Stephen is compared to me and how I was born for suits like this.

"You should have come inside. I wanted to talk to you about work," I tell him. He throws his drink into one of the containers and it rolls in an echo. He doesn't look like he's heard me. "L, I wanted to talk to you."

And, no, we can't seem to be within arm's reach of each other without something violent happening. I'm immediately and uncomfortably wedged against the container. My mouth feels ravaged, and I'm sorry, but it will just have to fucking put up with it. Pressed against him, I feel myself slowly rising and thinking back to when I was indifferent - although I still am in most respects - but indifferent when people were talking to me while obviously imagining what I'd look like on their bed sheets. I used temptation and insinuations and gestures, rewarding them only when they had delivered something I wanted, or the promise of it, at least. It had only failed once, when I was too impulsive and caved in too early. I never got what was promised to me, but I was introduced to someone who did give it to me, so it all worked out in the end. It's not as complicated in that way with women, because they're different. Some would call them stupid, and honestly, a lot of men do, but women _are_ just different. They can't help but see a future, while men, when we're in a position of dominance, don't. We see a fuck. Possibly another, but usually we only see one. We see it how it is.

So this is all going on and I almost forget that my YSL suit is against some dirty old piece of plastic, when L murmurs in my mouth that he wants me to turn around. I pretend that I didn't hear him for several reasons; the main one being that I'll do a lot of things, but this place is disgusting. I'm thinking of his car. It's a four seater. Then I think that Kiyomi might know. She's very intuitive and the thought wouldn't be inconceivable to her., and I don't know how she'd react now. Her self-esteem would be injured and she'd probably go ballistic. She wouldn't think that I'm groping L in alleyways, but some girl, maybe - one of my secretaries - and that would be very unfair because I haven't done that for years. Her mother already planted the seed of suspicion in her. I'm not to be trusted.

He tells me to turn around again but I just make an amused humming sound as I kiss him. No, no, no.

"Turn Around."

I don't say no, I tell him through my eyes and he sees it. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like the disobedience. No, I won't be used here in a filthy alley surrounded by waste. This is so below me. It's so below me.

But his eyes are persistently demanding. Kiyomi's eyes reflect the light in pinprick stars and ask for nothing, only hide dreams. His are like black velvet and strangely matte most of the time, but reveal everything to me now, and he wants me to turn around. I deny him as if my body itself is refusing, so he forces me to turn and presses close against me, moulding his form to mine. He shifts around, YSL is treated very disrespectfully, and a shock of discomfort and then painful, rigid arousal shoots through me, up my back, gripping me as firmly as his arms do. I feel sick and my head hangs forward until he lifts it so I'm made to face straight ahead until I feel like he's holding me up entirely. He speaks into my ear, repeatedly telling me to open my eyes. I do, and my teeth are locked together as I see the tunnel of darkness end in a small rectangle of steady streetlights colouring the passers-by and the cars and the moments of their time. I involuntarily tense around him as he forces himself into me, which is a bad mistake and I'll regret it later. I cry out weakly, but he keeps my head facing the miniature of life in front of us.

"Look at them," he says. "They're yours."

"I don't want them," I tell him. My voice barely audible, but he hears me. He kisses my neck and moans against it, dull against my skin. I grip the edge of the container in front of me with one straight arm.

"Don't lose your empathy, Light. It's all you have."

* * *

**A/N** Sorry that this is later than usual (damn you, life!) and that it's basically all non-smut smut/horrible/fluffy. Is this plot? I don't know. It's getting there. I SO didn't want to write more sex scenes. I think that I should keep away from them, to be honest, but it ended up being kind of unavoidable without doing a "six months later" thing and that isn't good karma. Plus, I'm very keen on blackmail and mad people. Stuff like that. We are clear that they're BOTH bonkers conkers now, aren't we? Anyway, I had to bite the bullet. I hope it doesn't come across like these two don't work and just follow each other around. Ok, they just follow each other around. I like how Light's thoughts meander and that he tries to distract himself from what worries him about L and their 'arrangement' by thinking of things that don't worry him as much, in a similar way to his obsession with the specifications of material things.

As a slight disclaimer type thing, there are a few bits which Light monologues about in this which I nabbed from a drunk man I earwigged at the pub, only I made it more coherent. I loved/hated how he summed up two genders in his strange mind. It was quite depressing.

Carla – If you watch _Lust, Caution _then you'll see Kiyomi's engagement ring.

This story has a TVTropes page! It made my entire week, so thank you to whoever put it on there. There's a link on the profile and you should read it, if only for the Pet Homosexual entry, because I air punched when I read that. Just the whole shebang.

I'm going to blame this chapter on Ikea and their flat pack furniture.

Thanks for the reviews, as always.


	17. Kneecap My Friends Just To Keep Up

**Chapter Seventeen**

**I Had To Kneecap My Friends Just To Keep Up**

* * *

My secretary tells me that L's outside. I know he's outside; I can see him. Now installed in my new office, I can see everything outside, but they can't see me. Essentially, it's a glass case. It's soundproof, bulletproof, probably bombproof. In short, I am intact. From the outside, it's mirrored. I'm trying to keep as many people from seeing the inside as I possibly can, and my secretaries have been told to keep their mouths firmly shut. I don't want everyone to know, because then they'll be on their best behaviour in my department. It's not that I want to spy on them, because I really have better things to do with my time. No, it's because it's symbolic. If the milling around distracts me, I can pull a cord and the walls go black for me. It's what I do if anyone has an appointment with me here. However, the novelty of living in a glass box hasn't lost its shine yet.

I tell my secretary that I'm busy. I am. I'm writing bullet points. She tells him and I watch them like a silent film, since they _are_ silent from here and they're tinted in monochrome through the glass. I wanted it that way. I expect one of them to be chased around the room by a gorilla or to throw a piano out of the window, but it doesn't happen. I'm surprised that he sits down like he's willing to wait. Back to my bullet points.

After ten minutes, I tell my secretary to send him in. I am now calmly furious and I have been for a few days. It's been brewing nicely. I think that I'm done.

The silent film is losing its comic appeal and is quickly becoming boring and serious. L drags himself towards the door, the secretary opens it and my fingers do a polka on the keyboard. I look from the keys to the screen and frown. Back space.

"Ooooh. This is a very open kind of office," he says as the secretary closes the door behind him. Even the door is the same glass. I am entombed and I've never been happier in an office. "Special glass?" he asks. I glance up quickly to see him tapping the glass with his knuckle. Of course it's special glass, you idiot.

"What do you want?"

"Just checking that you're still alive." I don't know why he's so fucking happy, and he obviously doesn't know why I'm not interested in him. Apart from one moment, I haven't looked away from my screen and I'm not going to. The indents on my bullet points have gone to hell. "Are you ok?"

"I don't know, L."

"Have you had a bad day?"

"I've had a bad year. Why have you come here? I thought you said that it was too soon for you to be seen in the Kantei." Spacebar. "Who the fuck let you in?"

"You _are_ in a bad mood today. You didn't call me. I thought that we were meeting on Saturday but you didn't let me know where and when. Are you ignoring my messages? I'm not supposed to text you, you're supposed to text me."

Oh, the superiority.

"How's Stephen?" I ask, blandly cheerful. New paragraph.

"Tired. He doesn't do flights very well. Why?"

"I hope that he feels better soon. I'm very busy right now, so if you don't mind."

"Whuuu... What's wrong with you? Light? Light, stop it."

He's in front of my desk and he's blocking my light from the window. That's very inconsiderate. Scroll fucking lock! What is with this program?

"I've been thinking." Sniff. "I realised that you've treated me like I was less than dirt, and that I was letting you."

"Oh. You noticed that," he says. I bet that he's smiling.

"Do you really hate me that much?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Blue Note." Cmd + Z.

"What about it?"

I breathe out and a laugh is on it.

"You can stop it with your high and mighty lord and master attitude, thank you," I say. I tap the down arrow loudly a few times.

"What's wrong?"

"_You_ are very wrong in the head."

"And that's coming from you."

"You went too far."

"Are you annoyed because it was an unhygienic setting? Did you have to have your suit dry cleaned?"

"I'm 'annoyed' because I didn't want to and you made me do it anyway."

"Don't be dramatic. Of course you wanted to. It's why you asked me to meet you and don't pretend that it wasn't," he sighs. Why doesn't he just sit down? He's still completely blocking my light, so I turn on my desk lamp to compensate. Intensive work at the office can lead to tired eyes. Fixation on a computer screen causes a dramatically slower blink frequency, therefore the precorneal film is not renewed as often and it evaporates. As a consequence, the eyes don't get lubricated enough, causing them to feel tired and stressed. Heavy computer work usually reduces the blink frequency from about twenty two to about seven times per minute. This problem is known as Office Eye Syndrome. Regular breaks are the answer, but I don't want to take a break, so good lighting is key to ease stress. He's blocking my light and stressing my eyes.

"You were sadistic," I tell him. "I don't want to say the other word I'm thinking of."

"You like sadistic. I didn't hear you complain at the time."

"Oh yeah! It was_ Brokeback_ fucking _Mountain_."

"Retrospective anger is your speciality. Well, I'm sorry, I suppose. You should have said," he mutters casually. Dick.

"It fucking hurt," I say, emphasising each word with the importance they deserve.

"I know. It must have."

"So, you..." I should insert a file in here. Maybe a graph. "You actually wanted to hurt me?"

"No. Well, yeah. You didn't exactly go easy on me."

"You are a cunt."

"You love it really. You know, Light, you're so up your own arse that you just want someone to take over and treat you in the opposite way to how you think you should be treated."

"Of course! God. I was just asking for it, wasn't I?"

"It wasn't like that."

"It was."

"I wanted to see if you'd let me. I told you that I wanted you to debase yourself."

"Because it would prove something to you?"

"Yeah."

"I see. Well, I've done enough debasing and I hope that you enjoyed it. Consider me debased. You were like Astbury."

"I'm not like him," he says, quiet with shock that I could make such a comparison or that I brought him up at all. I'm dying to see the expression which accompanies this, but I can't find the fucking graph.

"I'm telling you that you were," I reply.

"Did I really hurt you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"I want us to be how we used to be. Not hate fucks everywhere." Blink.

"Light..."

"And I don't think you _are_ who you used to be. You'd never do something like that, so I think that you must really hate me." I stop to have a sip of Perrier. It's still the best. Swallow. "I thought that I wanted that once."

"I'm sorry. I am. I can't... I can't talk to you when you're staring at a computer, Light."

"We've both done shitty things to each other. But I don't want that anymore."

"Ok."

"We're equal or we're nothing. You didn't make me. I worked to get where I am."

"But -"

"L, you can either agree or not, but I'll tell you now, if you don't agree then you can walk out that door and I'll watch you go. I'll just always be sad thinking of what you turned into, because you were something when I knew you."

"You made me this way," he says accusingly. I'd love to see his face because it must be exquisite right now, but there's the file. I think that red columns look too angry. And they're very red. They should be blue.

"In that case, Stephen hasn't worked his magic and made you into a better person, has he? You're worse than you used to be. You can't blame other people for who you are and how you act, which, just so you know, is like a complete cunt. But I've already told you that."

"You're right. I think that I wanted you to hate me."

"L, I'm still wearing your cufflinks," I tell him. I look up, just for a moment, but I didn't intend to. He looks appropriately upset and mangled. I let that sink in and then go back to my graph. "I could never hate you."

"This is difficult for me. This whole thing. Light, look at me, please. This isn't easy."

"I won't let you treat me like that."

"I know."

"I'm not your personal stress ball."

"I was just angry with you."

"I'm angry with _you _and I have been for a long time, but I've never hit you and I've never treated you like that. You've done both those things to me, even before you came back. Honestly, L, you've turned into a cruel bastard. I feel like you're laughing at me all the time." I look up at him and my finger is tapping agitatedly above the 'up' arrow of the keyboard. It wants another job to do. I give it one. Save. "I was wondering how long it'd take before you got the handcuffs out. Why did you do it?"

"Because I'm a fucking idiot."

"You're not though. You're not an idiot. That's why I don't understand."

"Light, I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

"My terms are that there are no terms. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"And you don't hurt me. I don't hurt you."

"But you do hurt me," he whispers. Oh. All he needs to do is to start crying now for the grand finale. Why does he always revert back to acting like a kid whose pet rabbit has just died? He's incapable of accepting responsibility.

"I don't mean to. If you're hurt by the decisions I've made, I can't do anything about that now. You'll just have to get over it. Don't take your shit out on me." Blink.

My left hand is shaking slightly where it rests on the edge of the keyboard. I look at it like it doesn't belong to me. L walks around my desk, even though I didn't give him permission to, crouches on the floor at my side and his hand reaches across me to turn me around. I didn't give him permission to do that either. Kneeling at my feet always had a strange effect on me and he probably knows it. Once I'm facing him, I look out the window behind him instead. My eyes are due for a break.

"Maybe we should talk about things."

"Yeah, let's call B and we'll have a therapy session."

"Ha. If B knew... Light, I am sorry," he says. It sounds as honest as anything he's ever said. He sounds like he did after he came back to apologise for being a drunken, violent, lying shitstain. I can accept apologies. I never forget, but I'll accept apologies if they're apologetic enough. He puts his hand on my knee and I look at the top of his head, since he's looking down at the floor between his legs. The contrition. Shiny black hair.

"Just stop pretending," I tell him. "Why are you here?"

"For you."

"Did you miss me?"

"Yes."

"And you're sorry. You love me and you're sorry."

"Yes."

"That's all I wanted to know."

I lean forward and clasp him, bringing him to me. This all reminds me of when I was signing my candidacy papers. I was so thankful to him. I loved him. I told him and he didn't believe me. His fingers dig into my jacket and it's all too prolonged. I feel like I should have done this when he was leaving or when he came back, because maybe everything would have been different then. I pull away from him and he seems reluctant to let me, but he does. He takes moments like this like they're from a whole host of other people who are accepting him and his apologies.

"You better go now," I say, turning back towards the computer. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Can I help you with anything? Since I'm here."

"I thought that you had a bail hearing."

"Yeah, I did."

"Did you get another murderer out on the streets again?"

"Light," he sighs sadly. Cmd + up arrow. Proofread.

"Why do you do that? Just for the hell of it? I know that it's not for the money."

"He's under house arrest."

"You know, when you come back, you can't take on any more of these defence cases just because you can. You know PR. The government does not endorse murder and neither do I."

"Everyone has a right to representation..." he breaks off and then sighs again like I've taken away his favourite toy. "I'll pass him on to someone else."

"Thank you."

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"I can pick you up after work. I'll be working until late though. I'll text you."

"Oh, in your new car?" he says. I know that he's smiling. He's trying to make me smile. He's trying to humour me with excitement over my new love affair with my car. Save again. You can't save too many times. I turn back towards him.

"Yeah."

He puts his arms around my waist until his hands snake under my jacket and around my back. I always unbutton my jacket when I intend to sit down for any length of time. You should do every time you sit down, really. Like you should pull up your trouser legs. It's to avoid creasing, warping and unnecessary strain on the fabric, seams and buttonholes, especially when they're hand-sewn like mine are, because they're a work of art in themselves. Each of these buttonholes take twenty minutes to complete because of how they're worked. There are two at the front closure and three on each cuff, which are working buttonholes, not a sham cuff. It dates from a time when manual labourers needed to roll up their sleeves. This suit says 'hard worker.' Each stitch has been done by hand. No one fucking knows this.

"Stephen or me?" I ask him. He doesn't reply, he just presses his face into my stomach. I've opened my legs for him. "L."

He turns his face to one side, perhaps so I can appreciate the guilt and pain it causes him from his profile. He squeeze his eyes shut.

"You."

I place my hand on the back of his head to let him know that I'm pleased with his answer. It was delivered properly and with the right level of respect. He opens his eyes and they dart from side to side at what they see. He must see the endless stream of people outside getting in and out of the elevator.

"This is weird," he says.

"You'll get used to it."

"No, I don't think I will."

"There's a space outside - I've marked it on the ground but the fucking cleaners keep getting rid of it - but if you stand in that spot, you can't see this at all. It reflects from this other mirror by the elevator. So, in that place, we don't exist," I tell him, like I'm telling a story to a child. I stroke his hair. "You know that people watch me all the time. It's existential."

* * *

I'm woken by Kiyomi. I'm lying on the opposite side to how I was when I fell asleep, I think. She asks me if I'm asleep, which I would think was fucking obvious, but really she just wants to wake me up in a polite way. She turns on the lamp on my bedside table to make sure that she's got the job done. I am now awake. My clock tells me that it's half past twelve. My phone is ninety-nine percent charged.

She sits on the edge of the bed, one leg folded under the other, which hangs. One arm crosses her body towards me and pushes her breasts together under a wide, round, low black neckline. She looks so fawn-like and docile that I almost wish I could take a photo without her knowing. A photo in black and white.

"I can't sleep," she says despondently.

"I'm very tired," I reply. My voice is scratchy and I try not to cough to clear it.

"But I can't sleep."

"I have to be up at five. I have to see this new library at nine and I have a meeting before then."

"Where?"

"To-Oh."

"Can I go with you?"

"Yeah."

She smiles for a second, then looks thoughtful as she strokes a square of my bedsheet flat between me and her.

"I just wanted you to know that it's ok. If you're... disgusted by me. I understand," she mumbles. Oh _God_.

"I'm not. Don't be stupid."

"You don't touch me," she says, and pauses for a while like she's expecting me to say something. "But it's ok. I don't feel like it really. I was just worried about you a little."

"I'm fine. Could you turn that lamp off? It's shining right in my eyes," I tell her. She reaches over to turn it off and then sits back the way she was.

"I had a check up today. The ankle thing, it's um, it's because I have high blood pressure and my kidneys aren't working properly, he said."

I try not to roll my eyes at this, not that she could see me do it. Why is nothing simple? There are pregnant women in poor countries who walk five miles each way to get water with seven babies strapped to their backs. Kiyomi does nothing, but she has high blood pressure, and she's not even at the half-way mark.

"Well... what's he going to do about it?" I ask.

"Nothing. I'll have to put up with it."

"What's causing it?"

"Light," she sighs, like the cause is obvious. I know that, but why? Just for a bit of added drama?

"Yeah, but that's not normal."

"It points to something further down the line. I can't pronounce it. I've got it written down somewhere."

"Kiyomi, why can't you find out details?"

"He said that it wasn't anything to worry about."

"I'll speak to him tomorrow."

"You'll make me look like an idiot!" she nearly shouts. She's very sensitive to being patronised, or appearing to be incapable of doing things for herself. Anyone else could ask him, but I shouldn't. It's patronising.

"No I won't. We should know what's going on."

"I'm staying here. Budge up," she demands. She shifts me over and I think that she's still in one of her cotton jersey day dresses. She covers us over with the sheet again and pushes her face under my jaw. I'm never going to sleep like this.

"You should spend more time with Naomi and less time with your mother," I say.

"Yeah."

"She's a shitstirrer. She makes you like this."

"Go back to sleep, Light."

"Cunt."

"Light," she snaps. "I'm going to see Stephen on Monday anyway. He gave me a book before he went away. It's called _Healing the Child Within._"

"Bleeugh."

"He's so nice, but a bit of a bitch. He's funny. Hey, I was thinking, we should have dinner parties."

"Are we that old already?"

"Just while I'm like this and then we'll stop."

"I don't know. When I've finished work, the last thing I want is to have dinner with a bunch of cretins."

"Just Teru and Naomi. Stephen and Lawliet, maybe."

"If you want."

"I want."

"Ok then. Just stop with the clingy."

She murmurs something incomprehensible in reply and then she's quiet. I was lying on my side in the darkness like this when his arm circled my waist and drew me towards him. Whenever he wakes up in the night, his hands always reach for and hook around my thighs. It used to annoy me.

And so I'm monogamous again. I wondered if Kiyomi was giving me permission to go elsewhere, but if she had, I think that it would have come with a warning which she need not give. Choose wisely, be careful, don't bring me any trouble.

* * *

I draw up outside L's firm at seven. He's not supposed to work that late, but I said that I was busy until then. I could have got here earlier but it's good for him to know that I wasn't playing around with him yesterday. The To-Oh tour didn't take as long as expected because there was still work going on, thanks to incompetent builders who can't stick to deadlines, so a lot of the library was still cornered off. I heard all about it from the principal. She was very weepy about it. It was very untidy and I'm sure that they could have done something about that. Books stacked on the floor and sawdust everywhere. Kiyomi and I looked perfect, like we'd been moved from a window in a high-end department store and dumped there instead. She based her outfit around my suit and I think that we looked pretty formidable. That's what Kiyomi said. I kept thinking that I shouldn't even be there. My Head of Education has broken his leg, but he could get a wheelchair. I'm a very busy person.

The window on the passenger side is wound down as I pull over, so I hear L talking to some another suit as they stand by the entrance. L smiles when he sees me through the open window.

"Oh, here's my ride," he tells the suit.

"What the fuck is that?" the suit says, walking alongside L towards my car.

"It's the Prime Minister in a... what the fuck _is_ that?" He leans in at the window. "Light, what's this car?"

"It's a Lexus LF-LC," I say proudly.

"I don't know it," he confesses, looking like he can't get over this fact. He buys car periodicals like other people buy skin magazines. I don't know why he didn't take notice of it when it was parked outside his house. He must have been preoccupied by being a moody, self-righteous, domineering bastard.

"It's a prototype. The shell is lightweight carbon fibre and it has a full hybrid system featuring an efficient cycle combustion engine and a twin 12.3 inch LCD navigation display and -"

"It's brutal," he interrupts me, still impressed and surprised like I've just got my cock out. I'm definitely in here. Not with chance, but I'm in with a certain fuck here.

"Yes."

"It's kind of sexy."

"Yes," I smile.

"It's a Lexus LF-LC," he says, turning to the suit, then he dashes off to the front of the car. "Fuck me, look at the grill!"

"Hi, Prime Minister!" the suit says, replacing L at the window. "I'm -"

"He doesn't care who you are, Satou," L tells him, walking back, perving all over my car. He points at it again. "Look at the vent!"

"The wheels!" the suit replies.

"It's the fucking Batmobile!"

This got boring very quickly. For a moment there, I thought that it would be interesting to hear his opinion. My car represents me. It was a well-informed choice which I made after copious research. It says: 'Don't touch me. I'm very expensive.' I didn't think it said: 'I read comics.'

"L, get in the car."

"I'm getting a lift from Batman!" he gasps at the suit, ignoring me.

"You're so lucky," the suit sighs enviously as they gaze as each other in consternation at L's good luck. "What's the interior like?

"I'll let you know. I'll take photos," L assures him. He gets in the car. The engine's still running and once he's shut the door, my foot is prepped and I'm ready to fucking go, but the suit leans in on the window sill. I think of winding the window up, trapping his suit in the car and driving off, dragging him along like a banner from an advertising plane until his feet wear down to stumps. Terrible accident. Didn't notice that he was there.

"See you!" he says. Go then! Get the fuck off my car!

"Yeah."

"And don't worry about the case, L."

"I'd forgotten about that," he moans. The instant change in mood and tone is awe-inspiring. He hasn't mentioned a case, because I got tired of his cases years ago. They're all the same.

"Someone will have to update your wikipedia page," the suit laughs.

"Fuck off," L tells him and presses a button which, thankfully, is to wind up the window. The suit steps back. I take off. It's only then that I realise that I have no idea where I'm going.

"How was your day, darling?" I ask him sarcastically, running through destinations in my mind.

"A shitstorm," he replies as he straps on his seatbelt. He's in an incredibly black mood suddenly. The kind which has left him stunned with how shit it actually was.

"Good. And, thank you for asking, mine was soul-destroyingly boring _but_ I have some news."

"Oh?"

"Kiyomi doesn't want to have sex with me anymore. It's fantastic news," I say, shaking my head with it all.

"Oh."

"We need to get Stephen pregnant. Then he might not want to have sex with you either."

"Yes. Good idea."

"What's wrong?"

"I lost a case today," he mumbles quietly. That's unusual. That's unheard of.

"That's not like you. What happened? Didn't you turn up?"

"Yes, I was… I was there. I was just shit."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"It is true. I was shit. I was shit and I lost a case," he says, dumfounded and staring into the void of his life.

"Well, you can't expect to win every -"

"No, you don't understand. I have a one-hundred percent success rate. I don't lose."

"I'm sorry, L. Could I get you some… ice cream? And a spoon? Just a tub of ice cream and a spoon?"

"I must be ill," he says breathily, staring at the dashboard. "God, Light. What if I'm dying?"

"You're not dying," I laugh.

"I don't understand it."

"Forget about it now. I'm taking you to the Kantei, but first we're going to find a lay-by or something."

"Amomaxia?" he asks, turning to me. "In the Batmobile?"

"I don't know what amomaxia is exactly, but yes. I'm in a very good mood."

"There's somewhere by that nature reserve. Turn right. Right, Light, right, not left, you fucking moronic GQ model, do you still have trouble putting your shoes on in the morning?! A client of mine got busted there once. The police turn a blind eye now."

"Oooh!" I say, happy to have a destination. I get into the right lane. What L doesn't realise yet is that most drivers have to indicate before they turn off, not just swerve wherever they want.

"I don't know why they bother. It's tiny but you could build at least four houses on it. Like any endangered species are going to turn up here in one of the most built-up places on earth. It is, however, very useful for dogging activities. But why are we going to the Kantei? I thought we were having dinner."

"We are. After the Kantei. It won't take long."

"I think you're full of badness," he smiles at me mischievously, though I try to keep my eyes on the road for the most part.

"It depends on your perspective," I grin at the road. Nature reserve, hello!

"What was I thinking, having my head turned by some ageing Japanese Justin Bieber?"

"Repeat that."

"No, I'm scared of you," he says, cowering back against his chair. "You misheard me. Whatever you thought you heard, you misheard me."

"That's it. I'm pulling over."

"Oh, crumbs. Have mercy."

I pull over and the handbrake's on and my seatbelt's off, my jacket's off and we're outside a nature reserve at seven at night. I turn in my seat to face him and he does the same.

"Mr Lawliet, I hate your clothes."

"Your hair is so stupid, Prime Minister."

"Is it?" I ask throatily.

"Mmmmm…"

"Ok. Prepare yourself for a disciplinary."

While I try to deal with the issue of his legs and trousers, I see how I should have taken this sort of thing into consideration when choosing a car.

"I've racked up quite a few of those in my time," he says, taking off his jacket with difficulty. "By rights, I should have been sacked ten times over. I was just lucky to have such an lenient boss. What have I done this time?"

"You've insulted the Prime Minister's hair and it's a criminal offence. Take your seat belt off."

"Why? It's unsafe. We should always be safe," he rasps, taking his seatbelt off. It's stretched out to shit.

"I want to see if two six-foot men can have a disciplinary in a coupé_._"

"It'll be just like that scene in_ Titanic_."

"It really won't."

"Draw me like one of your French girls."

"You've lost me, but that's ok. I think you'll have to put this leg on the dashboard."

"From experience, I know that this is possible in a BMW coupé because they're wider and umf… But I would say that we need more room to manoeuvre in this thing."

"No, you're very bendy."

"My hips are hypermobile."

"You know, I did wonder. God, you're full of surprises," I say in admiration, and then I kiss him. Or he kisses me. I don't know, I lose track. Oh! _My_ trousers! Can't do much with them around. I'm so pleased that I haven't banned tinted windows.

"I think that if you gave me a shot of morphine first, you could bend my legs right around to face the other way," L breathes out excitedly.

"That's only as a last resort," I reply like a soldier going on a mission. "But it's good to know." I have lube. I missed lube. Condoms are ok for avoiding bad things happening to suits and upholstery, in this instance. I forgot those. Oh dear. Never mind!

"Haaaa."

"What?'

"I'm happy," he says, sounding a bit sad about it actually.

"Sayu's got a cat called Happy," I tell him, just for something to say. It's the first thing that I think of. Fucking awful name. Fucking awful cat. It's definitely not happy.

"That's stupid. Really?"

"Yes."

"Are you a happy cat?" he asks, arching up to me. What the fuck? Oh, whatever.

"Erm."

"I did miss you. I missed you for nearly a year."

"Come back to work," I say into his throat.

"No."

"PR's shit without you."

"I'm sure it is, but from a PR point of view, re-employing me would look very suspicious. I'd look indispensable. You'd look weak and useless. Both of those things might be true, but do you really want everyone to know that?"

"Did I ask for your opinion? No. Now, I'm really sorry if your head hits the door a few times but it's for your own good."

"The handbrake's between my legs."

"I'm sorry about that too. Let me worry about that."

"But I really don't think it's a good idea for us to work together now," he muses. I draw away from him and he looks like something that you _would_ expect to find in a nature reserve.

"L?"

"Yeah?"

"Nod your head. Nod. Your. Head. Done. You start on Monday, welcome back. We'll sign contracts at the Kantei after this."

"No."

"Yes. Shit. This really isn't working, is it?"

"It's too small. You have a small car," he says sadly.

"I'd open the door but I don't think that it'd make much difference and it'd be drafty and we might get attacked by some woodland creature or a dog walker."

"A lot of horror films start this way. Oh. Light. You have to stop wearing these," he says softly, pinching my cuffs. He must mean the cufflinks because he can't mean the shirt.

"Are they suspicious from a PR point of view?" I laugh and decide that maybe his legs would be better slung over my shoulders. Never fails. I'm going to do that. Maybe I _should_ take my shirt off?

"No, but they cost about two yen from a market stall," he tells me. "I got them for you as a joke because I didn't like you very much."

"I thought that they were gold." I did. He's rich. They look gold. Gold and black enamel. Am I wearing cheap cufflinks?

"They're as gold as a piece of cardboard. Why do you wear them?"

"I like them."

"Because I bought them for you," he smiles stupidly

"No, because they have my initial on them," I say. "And you bought them for me," I add, also a bit stupidly.

"L is my letter."

"Mmmm… Right, I'm going to put my jacket on the handbrake and we'll try this again. Now, this jacket. Don't let this put you off, but should I hand-wash it myself before I send it to be dry cleaned? Common sense and the label say no. Actually, they don't say anything about it, but you know about this stuff. Is that a good idea?"

"Damage limitation, yes," he nods in all seriousness. "Think of Bill Clinton."

"I'm not making the same mistake. You're not going to pull a Monica on me one day, are you? Ok. Brace yourself, Monica."

"Hold on, I'm not an experiment like you're trying to find out how many people you can fit in a Mini Cooper!"

"We're doing this for the sake of science."

"Light, before you bang my head against the door, I just want to say that I love you. I always have. Now go ahead and dislocate my hips."

* * *

Kiyomi arranged a dinner party at the Kantei on Sunday because she won't go to restaurants in fear of being photographed. Stephen's ecstatic about his immigration papers and L told him that I had some hand in it, that he'd got it all wrong and overreacted, I'm a really great man, a good friend, L lied about everything and we've spoken about him coming back to PR. Stephen is all for it. Hmmm... Anyway, he starts tomorrow and Stephen is still all for it.

Naomi and Mikami arrive early and L and Stephen arrive late, so the schedule got fucked and the meal will be delayed. The greens were overcooked, so the chef told me. 'That's fine. Start from scratch,' I said. There was a lot of mindless talk while we waited, and I aged about thirty years. It's easier to be pleasant to Stephen now. He's still a twat, but I'm getting my own back, so being nice to him is just another private joke to me. L had clearly just washed his hair. It was still wet and scraped back so you could see the grooves from the comb in it like tilled earth.

I said that while we were waiting, we should have a talk about PR and the finer points of his contract so he can start the next day, as planned. So we went. I had him in my bathroom, partly to erase what I thought had happened once in the same place. I made it very different. He was on the edge of the sink, leaning back at an acute angle with his head against the mirror and his legs were tight around my waist like a beautiful belt. I think that I stopped breathing at one point. It upset me that I couldn't kiss the redness from his face afterwards. We had to wait until it died down and he plunged his head in and out of a sink full of cold water. He combed his hair again, and then we went back and had a meal with Kiyomi, Stephen, Naomi and Mikami. Nobody noticed. Nobody suspected. It was very civilised.

I realised, not for the first time, that I don't speak to him as much lately. We used to talk all the time, but now it's just stolen moments and boiled down, condensed fucks full of fury whenever and wherever. I'm sure that we'll get better at this, especially when he comes back to the Kantei, but I blame it on Kiyomi and Stephen. We rarely have more than an hour together at one time, so we don't talk, and it's their fault.

* * *

On Wednesday, It's Naomi and Mikami's turn to feed our horrible group. I see the reason. It's because Penber's going to be featured on a documentary. He's only going to be on for a few minutes but Naomi was interviewed for it and she's very pleased that he's getting some recognition, albeit posthumously, which is no fucking good to anyone.

Everything's timed so that we're at a loss when the programme starts. Naomi, Mikami and Kiyomi sit on a sofa directly in front of the TV, Naomi gripping Mikami's hand and smiling. I stand against the wall behind everyone. I haven't seen L as much as I thought that I would at the Kantei since he came back. He and Mihael have been holed up in their office since Monday, and when I came in to welcome him back, I was told that PR is in an awful fucking state. They'll be there until the end of time. I haven't seen him since then. Now he's with Stephen at the table and they're muttering to each other. They're not interested in Penber. Stephen kisses him just as the narrator mentions Penber's name and L pats him on the arm. I just feel cold.

"There he is!" Naomi says loudly so that we all look at the screen.

Penber. I don't listen to his words. I know his words like I'd written them myself. It's strange to hear someone speak from their heart, especially in politics. Penber always did. Kiyomi never met him, so all she can contribute is that he was very good-looking. He was never on her radar, because the unfairness was that he wasn't ever on anyone's radar. He was considered a vocal radical who leaned too far to the left, but was very popular with his constituents and was always a safe seat. He was rewarded with Head of Culture, which he didn't care about and neither did anyone else. He knew that he'd be there forever. He agreed with the opposition on occasion, sometimes with our policies, but mostly he agreed with no one entirely. There was always something that wasn't quite right and could be improved. I was his aide, he supported my campaign when I ran. He told me to keep my thoughts to myself, to become Mikami's deputy instead of sticking with him, because I would get nowhere then. People judge you depending upon who you ally yourself with.

I get tired of seeing Penber alive and dead, the drone from the narrator, Naomi looking proud and sad while sitting next to a lampshade with a photo of Penber on a table behind her. I go into the kitchen instead. A few minutes later, Naomi comes in.

"Are you ok?" she asks.

"Yeah! Have I missed it?"

"Yeah, his part's finished."

"I was just wondering where you hide the coffee," I say, looking despairingly at shelves full of things that look like they should be in an art and design museum, not a kitchen. She pulls out a jar which doesn't look like a jar. Instant. God.

"So. Babies," she says, and scrubs her sleeves against a spot on the worktop.

"Hmmm..."

"Still a bit shocked?"

"Why would I be shocked? It was planned like an invasion of a country."

"I heard. Big thing though."

"Kiyomi's not the best advert for glowing Mother Nature," I say. The kettle rumbles.

"Ha. No, she's struggling."

"She's bought Ugg boots and things with elasticated waists."

"It'll be worth it in the end. Hey, are you ok about Teru?"

"Why shouldn't I be? Whatever makes you happy."

"I feel bad about it," she admits wistfully. She feels bad about everything, but she always does it anyway.

"Why? Oh. Well, you know, it happens. No one would blame you."

"You know when you feel like you're making mistake after mistake?"

"Yes."

"Teru doesn't feel like a mistake," she says. She looks at me and smiles guiltily. I smile back and then look for a useable cup.

"Good. It's good that he's pulled himself together."

"He was very unhappy. I didn't know. Did you?"

"Men don't talk about things like that, Naomi."

"No, you don't do you. Did you see Raye? Funny to see him like that. I have loads of films and stuff, but I couldn't even see a photo of him for a long time. Teru had one framed for me. Isn't that... he's so lovely. He just did it."

"I don't have one," I mutter.

"What? A photo? I'll give you one. You should have said!" She rushes to a cupboard, ploughs through it, and pulls out an envelope of photos. Then she flips through those.

"No, it's ok," I tell her.

"Shut up. I have one of you and him from when you won your seat," she says, walking back to me. "Here. Look at his face. He was so proud of you."

She holds out a photo and stands close to my side so we can both look at Penber's face together. I can practically feel _her_ face beaming with pride as she looks at him, and I feel nothing, I think. I feel, maybe for the first time, that I'm a failure. I don't know what that feels like, but I imagine that this is the closest thing to it. I work, but I don't feel like my heart is anywhere near it and it never was really. I just wanted to change things. I think of L all the time and I have done for most of the last year, at least. At least a year. I'm bored by my job, I find myself trying to think of ways to avoid it. I married Kiyomi, now she's having my child and it was all for work. I followed my plan without thinking that perhaps I shouldn't. I was determined, as I should have been. Penber would have wanted me to be. I wanted to make a difference. All the things I've done, yet I've done nothing at all. No, he wouldn't be proud of me.

"Thanks," I mutter, taking the photo from her.

"I just wanted to say that it was a good thing you did. The tax evasion thing. It made me think of Raye. I mean, when you two used to talk about things like that. Big companies squeezing out the smaller guys with false ethics and cheap prices. He'd still be so proud of you, Light."

"Penber?"

"Why are you calling him that? He was never Penber to you." She stares at me like she doesn't know me anymore. I look back at the photo.

"Naomi?"

"Yeah?"

"What was he doing before? Before…"

"He died?"

"Yes."

"I don't know, he didn't tell me. I didn't notice. I was thinking of the wedding too much to think about him, I guess. I was stupid. He said that he couldn't talk about it."

"But he was looking into something?" I ask. The kettle rattles and switches itself off. Naomi reaches for it and starts pouring water into something which looks like a large pottery ice cube.

"I think so. He had files, but the police took them away. Took his whole desk away. I never got it back."

"His work desk? That would have contained sensitive files. They had no right to take it away. When did this happen?"

"The day he died. I don't know. When I came back to get some things a week later, it looked like the place had been turned over. There was a lot of stuff missing. They said it was an interrupted burglary at first, remember? I found out later. Our neighbour told me that they saw the police taking things from the house. Probably for fingerprinting."

"But you should have got them back. Naomi, you should have told me."

"I didn't really care, Light. Raye had just died," she says, and spoons some coffee into a mug with porcelain antlers sticking out of it. "I didn't care about his desk. I tried to look into it but they wouldn't talk to me."

"I'm sorry. It's just…"

"Light. Don't."

"What?"

"Don't look for answers. Let it go. You can't. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you. You have to think of your family now. You know what Raye would say if he was here."

"Leave it alone," I answer.

"Yeah."

"But he didn't."

"And look where it got him. Look where it got me. Just do good things," she smiles weakly and touches my arm.

"He'd also tell me not to be so fucking selfish and that some things are more important. Find the truth. Sacrifice yourself to the cause." I sound angry and that makes me feel angry. I break my eyes away from hers while I put the photo in my pocket.

"He wouldn't say that, Light. You know that."

I don't know what he'd say. He might have said both those things. I look away from her towards the door and see L standing there. I feel myself glare at him for interrupting a conversation, or for not making himself known, and he dips his head in apology like he knows what I'm thinking.

"Sorry," he says. "I sensed the presence of coffee."

"I'll do it," I tell him, turning back to what I came in here to do. Antler mugs.

"What an honour," I hear him say behind me. "Black, please. With..."

"Three sugars, I know."

Naomi pushes the half-made coffee towards me, takes a tray of tea and kisses me on the cheek. My hand twitches but I just grip the handle of the kettle more firmly.

"Quite a heartwarming little reunion there. I didn't know you were so close," L says once Naomi's gone. He sounds near. I feel him so strongly in the room like I'm not even in it at all.

"You know what Naomi's like. Were you listening?"

"Maybe a little bit." He kisses the back of my neck. "Hidden depths."

"No."

"You should listen to her."

"What about?"

"Leave it alone."

He takes the coffee and leaves. I don't even hear him go, I just know that he has. I'm left standing there and I stay like that for a few more minutes. I don't feel like coffee then; I just want to go home on my own. I take the cooling coffee Naomi made for me.

"I like that flowering tea," Kiyomi says as I take a seat next to her. I've walked in on some dull conversation again and it all sounds hollow in my ears. Kiyomi smiles at me and then purses her lips to blow at her tea. I look up and L catches my eye unintentionally, as he often does, and he looks worried, but then he smiles and drinks his coffee from that mug with fucking antlers sticking out of it. His fingers are awkwardly contorted around them. What a useless thing.

"I have some of that. Do you want some?" Naomi asks.

"No, Naomi! Don't be silly," Kiyomi answers. "This is fine. I was just thinking that I haven't had any for a while. Not since that tea place in Kyoto. Remember, Light?"

"Yeah. Geisha everywhere," I say.

"The maiko danced for us."

"OH!" Naomi exclaims.

"Light fell asleep."

"Oh."

"I didn't fall asleep," I add gruffly. "It was a long day."

"I haven't been to Kyoto for months. Didn't you live there once, Lawliet?" Naomi asks.

"Not for long," he says. "Geisha aren't my thing and they really are everywhere. Once you get stuck behind one on a narrow street when they're in those shoes of theirs, they lose that theme park attraction appeal."

Naomi doesn't much appreciate this and wants to steer the conversation towards something which is less offensive to Japanese culture.

"Stephen, tell Kiyomi the story about how you two met."

"God, don't," L sighs, but Stephen jumps right in.

"Ha. This is funny. I was interviewing his client."

"Sorry," L says through a gulp of coffee. "I don't want to be a part of this, but I have to say that he was interrogating my client. Interrogating is the correct term."

"You're killing the story," Stephen tells him moodily. "So, I'm interviewing. Just standard interview, you know, but L started bitching at me."

"I didn't!"

"Like a bitch. I was unprofessional and my interviewing techniques were shit and bordering on illegal, why didn't I just waterboard his client and be done with it? That kind of thing."

"And I was on call. It wasn't even my case. Woken up at 3 in the morning by the man's lawyer, who was pissed, crying down the phone at me about just _how_ pissed he was and this guy was being held and needed someone there with him, he's so sorry, please don't sack him. Obviously I did the next day. He was on his third warning anyway."

"And that was how we met," Stephen smiles. I imagine L's mug smashed into his face. Say, as if I smashed it into his face. The antlers would gouge out his eyes. Everyone would be running around screaming and saying: 'Stephen! Stephen! Talk to me!" Mikami would be on the phone. L would wink at me. 'Thank you, Light. I love you. I always have. You always do the right thing,' he'd say.

"No, that's the abridged version," Naomi pouts.

"Sterilised," L smiles into his mug.

"Well, his client was released without charge," Stephen elaborates, though I'm sure none of us need or want it, apart from Naomi, who is frequently an idiot, "and I caught L outside and he looked like... he looked like..."

"It was the middle of the fucking night, Stephen," L cuts in. I'm sure that we would have been treated to a few more of Stephen's repetitions otherwise. I know what L looks like at three in the morning. He's not at his best.

"And I thought: 'Have a go at this one,'" Stephen carries on, ignoring him. Have a fucking go?! "The worst thing that could happen is that it turns out he's straight. So I did. Didn't get anywhere. He just gave me this dead fish stare, y'know? He went, and the next morning I found out which law firm he worked for, went there, found him. He's never told me if he felt sorry for me, but he said that he was going to see a movie that night and I took it as an invite."

"This is the worst story ever," L says. I don't think that he's ever been more right. "I mean, I was there and it's still boring. Throw a car chase in there or something. Jesus, Stephen."

"It's not boring! He's just found out where you work and, oh! This is so romantic!" Naomi coos. Oh God.

"I'm going for a wizz," L states. The mug's on the table. Stephen's face is right there. Maybe some accident could happen while L's away?

"And miss the story? Are you embarrassed?" Stephen smirks up at him. Just like Jeevas. He's just like Jeevas.

"No, I need a piss."

"He's embarrassed," Stephen informs us all as L leaves. "So, I went to this place and waited by the popcorn and he didn't turn up. I was angry as hell, so I waited another ten minutes and then I called him. He said that he was in the bar over the road. I went over there and I'm all ready to tell him what I think of him, which wasn't much, but he just started telling me about his day and how some politician he worked with had been killed in a hit and run and how it couldn't have happened to a nicer person. I'm like: 'You know the movie's started?' And he said that, yeah, he did. It's only worth seeing the last fifteen minutes. He'd seen it before. So then he asks about _my_ day and..."

And there's where I excuse myself. I leave the photo on the table and pull out my lighter so I don't need to explain where I'm going and why, even though I'm just not interested and I wouldn't hesitate to tell anyone who asked. I thought that I might be interested, but as a storyteller, he's shit. I wonder if he does have a talent.

I wander outside and L's hanging around the hallway, standing next to a flower made of notes of money under a glass cloche.

"Not interested in the story?" he asks.

"He doesn't tell them very well."

"Where was he up to?"

"I don't know. Something about a bar and the last fifteen minutes."

"Oh! Well, I'll summarise. The punchline is that it was this 60s film. No one's ever heard of it because it's really bad. I mean, literally nothing happens for nearly three hours. The only reason it isn't completely forgotten to the sands of time is because of the last ten, fifteen minutes. I go over there and buy a ticket. Massive surreal Salvador Dali orgy with about thirty people. It's pretty hardcore, actually. Unexpected arthouse at the end, like it's a present for anyone who's sat through the rest of the film. So, we go in, that happens, I haven't even bothered taking my coat off. Film finishes and he can't speak. He's a bit zombie-like. Like, 'Why did you do this to me, you pervert? I'm a well-brought up, wholesome boy!' sort of thing. It was quite funny. Obviously he wasn't _that_ wholesome. I go back to the bar and he follows me. I don't know why he did. I thought it would scare him off."

"Did you want it to?"

"Maybe. Anyway, he grew on me."

"Like cancer."

"Like you did. Only you're malignant, as B says," he laughs quietly and lifts up the glass cover of the money flower. I walk over to him.

"You liked me from the start."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Keep your Thursdays free from now on."

"The whole day? Can't do that."

"No," I laugh. "I can't, actually. Erm..."

"Half-day?" he suggests.

"Yeah. We could do that. Meet me in my office at half-twelve."

"Should I bring a packed lunch? We could have a sexy picnic on your floor. I'll bring a blanket," he says. I smile and rub under my bottom lip slowly. My head feels so full of shit. "We better go back inside."

"And catch the next thrilling instalment."

"Should be finished now. Even he can't string it out that long."

He kisses my cheek as he walks past me, and once again I'm left alone staring at something stupid. The money flower. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I want one. I follow L back inside after enough time has passed to clear any suspicion, and catch Stephen whining to a close about something so exciting that I think I might die.

"… said that my hotel was shit. He said that you could tell how seriously the CIA were taking the investigation if they put their agents in cheap hotels."

"Oh no!" Kiyomi laughs and claps her hands together.

"So he showed me his place and I ended up staying."

"Aw."

"It's a nice place," he nods.

"Got it for a song," L comments. "It's worth double what I paid for it."

"Do you still own your old house?" I ask, sitting down. He looks surprised that I'm speaking to him in front of people like this.

"Yeah. I'm renting it out."

"I liked that house."

"So you keep telling me. You can buy from me if you want? Very reasonable terms."

"Ha. When I've retired."

"Wait a minute. If I'm going to be living there, I should see it," Kiyomi interjects.

"I don't think I'd actually live there," I say.

"Do you have fond memories of it, Light?" L asks me, a bit too affectionately really, but I smile at him anyway. He turns to Stephen. "We used to play tennis there sometimes."

"I just liked it," I admit quietly.

"And I thought L's name was L for the longest time," Stephen tells us. Well, yes, because that is his name. He's an idiot. Just like Jeevas. Always bringing the conversation back to himself. L laughs.

"As in E.L.L.E. Had it in his phone and everything. I'd changed sex and I didn't notice."

"I thought it was one of those ironic names."

"Right. Is it liqueur time?" Mikami asks, and stands. He looks bored shitless. He might as well have been asleep the whole night for all the use he's been. He hasn't adjusted to being my aide since he's too used to ordering me about, not the other way around. He finds it difficult to speak to me or in my presence because of this conflict, I think. I must get him back on side. I can't afford for him to feel ostracised.

"You're not having liqueur," Naomi commands him. It must be some agreement they've come to. He clicks his tongue in annoyance and sits back down to silence again. "This is so nice. All of us together," Naomi says to us all.

"We should do it more often," Kiyomi agrees.

I look at the photo of Penber on the table.

* * *

"I still have some reservations about it."

"They should be cleared up when you read the -"

"It's very long."

"It's comprehensive. It'll answer all your questions."

"Can't _you_ answer my questions now?" he asks. He's an eternal backbencher and has seen the terms of several Prime Ministers, thinks he knows it all, is very pissed off that I'm half his age and that he's a fucking loon. He's also very lazy. I don't understand why anyone would want a wig that looks like very sparse pubic hair on his head.

"How many do you have?"

"A few."

"I don't really have time right now. Just read it and then ask me. Oh, excuse me," I say, moving to one side to follow someone else who just happened to be walking past because fate loves me.

"No, it's G.E.V.A.N.N.I. Gevanni... Stephen, yes. No, EEE, Gevaneee... Yes... Fuck's sake, what's wrong with you? Stephen Gevanni... Yes, I'm sure that's his name... What do you mean he's not on the database? What database?... He might not be on the database but I assure you that he exists. Look harder... Take my word for it then... Target shooting... No, it's not for hunting, he just wants to shoot things... I don't know, tin cans or something... What if I said he was hunting tin cans?... Ok, he's hunting and we won't say what he's hunting... Air rifles? No, real guns with exploding things and gun powder like in the American Civil War. He wants to shoot things properly... Listen, I own a law firm and you don't want to upset me... I'm getting upset, yes... I don't understand the complexities of gun ownership, no, but I can find someone who does and you'll be served by this afternoon... You need to have a good think about your tone with me. You won't get very far in life if you're that aggressive... Put me through to your superior, I'm tired of talking to you. No offence, but you're an imbecile. Thank you...Hello, yes, that's me, I want to arrange for a gun licence for my boyfriend, manfriend, partner person. I tried a few weeks ago but your staff are unbelievably stupid and unhelpful. I'd like to make a complaint as well, actually, but first, I want a gun licence. Stephen Gevanni. No, Gevan_eee_! Fucking hell! Forget it."

"L, are you busy?" I say as I cut in and walk alongside him. "It's half day today, isn't it?"

"I'm always busy, Prime Minister. I was on my way to speak to you about it. On top of PR still being the bowels of hell, I miscalculated. I'm giving a presentation to a few civil servants after lunch about how not to be a fuckwit and how keep out of the papers."

"I'm very disappointed to hear that."

"So am I, but it's a life coaching thing. This will impact their whole lives. Why? Are you thinking of making me busier anyway?"

"I was thinking more of a sabbatical."

"A lunchtime sabbatical?"

"I'm sorry that I can't spare you for longer but these people need know how to avoid being fuckwits. It's a problem I've struggled with until recently."

"Then you admit that you are ninety-seven percent fuckwit? It's ok, I'm ninety-nine percent fuckwit, so I beat you there. Don't feel less of a person. I'm sure that you could beat me in some things, we just haven't found them yet."

"A highly concentrated sixty percent fuckwit, at most. But I'm cured."

"Really? And what caused this miracle? Have you been recently crucified?"

"A Frankie Goes to Hollywood song I heard on the radio this morning when I was waiting for the political report. It was shit. I thought of you."

"Relax, don't do it, when you want to suck to it. Relax, don't do it, when you want to come?" he suggests.

"No."

"When two tribes go to war, a point is all you can score working for the black gas?"

"No."

"Welcome to the Pleasuredome, keep moving on, got to reach the top, don't stop, pay love and life, oh my, keep moving on, on again, yeah?"

"No."

"The Power of Love?"

"A force from above."

"Cleaning my soul," he sighs and we stop walking so we can look at each other. We do that a lot lately. "Oh. That makes me feel sick. I must employ sarcasm to combat the stupidity. Don't make me miss the fuckwit," he smiles, and starts walking again. I keep up.

"You said something about a packed lunch on my floor," I remind him.

"Yes, but we have an hour and a half and I eat very slowly. I might eat faster in a restaurant but..."

"That's ok. I'll take you. You should just say if you can't afford it."

He barks a laugh into the air. Some person walks in the opposite direction between us but doesn't slow us down.

"You're right. I can't afford to feed you," he grins. "Tell me, Light. Do you just want the joy of my company?"

"Yes."

"You're very honest nowadays. You'll have to take me somewhere very expensive."

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't go anywhere that didn't serve an amuse-bouche between courses," he says as we reach the elevator. "I'm going up," he tells me.

"I'm going down."

"Oooh."

"Which floor?" I ask.

"Six," he answers. I press the button.

"So, are you coming?"

"No. But I'll have dinner with you. And I won't skip the dinner part this time."

"Good."

"I have to commend you," he says, leaning against the wall to look at me. "Your ability to chase has improved considerably, despite your lack of natural talent."

"I just think you're easier to chase."

"You might be right there. You're not bringing your guns and muscle, are you? Don't they know that I'd protect you with my own life?"

"Ha! They're not invited."

"That's nice. Dinner in ten minutes then? I'll meet you downstairs."

"I'll get my car."

"Being chauffeured as well? I have gone up in the world."

The elevator doors open and he's still smiling as he walks out. The doors close. I go down.

* * *

**A/N **Kind of on track again since this is mostly dialogue. I've written something on my tumblr about the end of the last chapter and the start of this one. I tried to write it in a 'challenging' way, to challenge myself mostly. I think Light really realised after the event that L used force and had been generally horrible to him leading up to that, but L would see it in the way that Light didn't actually say no or try to stop him, such is the wonder of this abusive thing they have going on. L's intention _was_ to humiliate Light (actually a bit more complicated than that), but I genuinely don't think that he saw it as Light saw it. You hear Light's POV about saying no 'through his eyes', but who knows if L understood it? Anyway, Light's ace for confronting him. I actually liked him for a minute there. Anyway, I've talked about it on my tumblr.

I'm off to Laaaaahndaaaahhhn for a while from tomorrow! I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again, even though the next chapter is nearly finished, but 3 updates in a week is a bit scary. I don't know where I found the time for it in between all the flat pack furniture. I'm not sure how long I'll be, but if he wakes up and finds that I've used up all the tea again then I might get thrown out early. Please send me nice words (or horrible ones) to remind me to not forget about it completely. I remember the days when I was saying: "Ok, champ. This'll just be a 10 chapter fic." Those were the days. I don't call myself 'champ' btw.


	18. Leave The Undesirables

**A/N** Had to come back home today in a snowy tornado because of an Ikea delivery. Seriously, dudes, change the delivery date and don't give me any warning, it's fiiiine. I'll just read a book, play Angry Birds and finish writing some shit about sick plonkers while I'm on the train for nine hours. Definitely the last chapter for a while because I'm going back on bloody holiday. I will have my holiday, dangnammit! Waiting for big vans at eight at night is not a holiday. Perfume and no punctuation for wordbombs when she gets to this point, filthy conversations and fluff for me and some B for everyone else. The worst bff in the history of fictional mankind. This will also probably be my last A/N too because they're so long. *round of applause* Look at this, I still can't shut up. I have a tumblr linked on my profile page where I might ramble there about Ikea deliveries instead. I love Ikea but my place looks like one of their showrooms now. Take care, all. xxx

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Leave The Undesirables**

* * *

In the three months between then and now, I've lived through a general election and remain victorious. I have brought stability, excellent world relations and style, so it wasn't surprising. I have breathed fresh air into this country's government and I haven't even started yet. Kiyomi is now considerably wider around the waist and she's had to hire a dressmaker, and I've had my hair cut. It's shorter at the back and sides. It was Kiyomi's idea. I quite liked it because it looked a bit more like L's, although, strangely, he didn't approve. He says that it makes me look older, which was kind of the point. There's nothing worse than someone who can't accept their age. This is a father's haircut and I am soon to be a father.

A few weeks ago, I walked in on Kiyomi when she was in the bath and tried not to look while trying not to look like I was trying not to look, but I'd just eaten, you see. She's very self-conscious these days and sometimes I have to interfere with her in some mildly sexual way to put a smile on her face for a month or so. It works out quite well and isn't much of an inconvenience, really. I sat on the edge of the bath and she told me that we should start interviewing child carers, nannies, whatever, but no one too young and attractive. I said: "Yes, but someone well-educated." Sayu wanted to do this job, but I worry that her stupidity may have an adverse effect on the baby's brain development, and I will not have a stupid child. It'll be lucky if it ever sees either of it's parents. But anyway, during the campaign I styled my hair in different ways depending on what town and place I was visiting. Wealthy areas = gel. Lower class areas = no gel. Sometimes I didn't wear a tie to give a more relaxed, accessible, Everyman appearance but, again, it depended on the setting. It worked for me.

It turned out that River was the opposition's ghostwriter. I'm nearly impressed. He's on speaking terms with L, who's subtly encouraging him to sabotage the opposition and join our party. I'll find a place for him as a reward for being so disloyal. Apparently, it's going well, judging by Tsukino's poor display in the House on Friday during Questions. He didn't seem to have any questions. So, during another ordinary week and still glowing from Friday's successful desecration in the House, Mikami suggests going to a bar after work which he says is politically safe because it's in a district which has consistently low voting turn out figures. I ask L to join us, otherwise I probably wouldn't go. I think that we both feel some prurient satisfaction from being in each other's company in the presence of the ignorant. The day after I won the election, he slapped me on the backside in some congratulatory but lecherous way in front of everyone in the club. I was disgusted, obviously, and told him loudly and sternly that his actions were inappropriate, no matter how gay he is, and that he'd have to accompany me for a disciplinary that very minute and learn to control his gayness and overfamiliarity. He was well disciplined but is still badly behaved and his reviews are quite a common occurrence in my office.

So, we go to the club in separate cars. My new bodyguards might not be so bulkily impressive as their predecessors, but know that their job is to be absent, only to pop up immediately at any sign of trouble. For that reason, I have a kind of alarm on my belt which, if pressed, sends them running. I might have pressed it accidentally once or twice during their breaks when they're assured that I'm 'safe' so I can test their efficiency. I find bodyguards to be an unnecessary burden. No matter how hard they try to be inconspicuous, I always feel that they make their position too obvious. They either look like bodyguards, which might raise suspicion of my importance and draw attention to me, or they look like mooning admirers. Either way, I don't want them near me most of the time apart from on official occasions.

I feel relieved but offended that I can walk around and sit down and just _be_ without anyone knowing who I am. About half an hour after we arrive, some glittery, frightening-looking women with badly matched foundations sit at our table without asking if they can, and try to get a free drink from us. We don't oblige. They take up another tactic and start pairing off with us, but L tells his that he's gay and even if he wasn't then he still wouldn't be interested, I flash my wedding ring at mine (which doesn't make any difference at first, so I have to be blunt without going into my matrimonial bliss in any great detail) and Mikami just tells them all to fuck off. After they moan on their way, he says something about brothers on a night out. L chokes and coughs on his drink after Mikami slaps him hard on the back and I want to get so drunk that I can't stand up. It's too much of a risk though.

The conversation wanders. Because of the loud music and the constant screaming and laughing of women having a hen's night, a lot of the time I can't understand exactly what Mikami's saying and I only hear my own voice reverberate through my jaw. L doesn't even try speaking much, like he's aware that his voice is too low and soft to be heard without standing up and bellowing at us, so he sits and drinks his gin and tonic and smiles and stretches out his shoulders and his neck and I can't actually stop looking at him. It's quite sad really. I feel like I'm trying to make up for lost time, since I spent three years out of four not really looking at him at all apart from when I couldn't avoid it because he was right in my face. I want to go back to myself four years ago and... Well, first I'd tell myself that maybe I should think twice about seeing him at all, but if I insisted, then I'd tell myself: 'God, just look at him. He's stunning in every way that you're not, even though you think you are now. Look at how he moves his shoulders. It's a fucking dream, isn't it?' But myself four years ago wouldn't agree. Myself four years ago would see a long streak of piss topped with black hair in a mediocre suit. Hindsight is a terrifying thing.

This place is too loud and eighteen to thirty, so we go somewhere thirty to forty and it's much quieter. There's a sickly cream melancholy to the atmosphere and décor and the singles hover at the bar in their best clothes if they're hopeful, and not-trying-straight-from-work-not-really-hopeful-b ut-maybe-they'll-get-a-fuck-out-of-it for the rest of them. While they wait for Fate, they drink. Mikami doesn't stop talking now that he can be sure of being heard, and L moves from next to him to a seat opposite me. I think it's because Mikami is a very loud and vibrant speaker - which is probably why he ended up going into politics - but then I realise that it's so he can stare at me like an appreciative and doped owl. It's sickening. If the four years ago me could see me now then he'd probably shoot both of us.

L perks up when his way of life and hobby of a lifetime - homosexuality, comes into the conversation after a transvestite walks in and sits by himself. I think he might be a trucker, because he looks like he drives an articulated lorry of some kind and they tend to like sequins and fishnets. His legs are the kind you could steer a ship with. I feel sorry for him and almost want to ask him to sit with us, but I'm too concerned that he might think that I'm even slightly interested in him on a human level. I just feel pity for people who can't help themselves. Style and self-awareness is innate and must be cherished, nurtured and educated, but only if you have a talent to start with, otherwise there's no point. I _could_ help him. Tone it down a bit. A lot. And maybe send him to another kind of bar or street corner at the docks because he'd probably have more luck there. He could sit with us as long as he doesn't speak. At least then he wouldn't look alone. L thinks he's hilarious though and doesn't hide it. He's surprisingly disparaging of the effeminate due to his hatred of women. I don't remind him of his decidedly camp music collection, but I blame his mother. He doesn't trust women. He doesn't trust men either, or dogs, or cats, or bees, or horses, but he reserves a particularly spiteful hatred for women and femininity which I find is an equally cruel, unreasonable and sexually attractive quality in him. I can't let myself forget that he is, before all things, a class A bastard.

Mikami is now semi-ratarsed and open, and asks L if he's monogamous 'really'. L is coy about it and in return asks suggestively why Mikami's so interested, which is laughed off with a playful slap on the arm. Everything always comes back to sex. It's numbed sometimes through overexposure, but we're still fascinated anyway. We are a generation obsessed with sex, myself included. Only my own though, unless it's politically useful for me to know what and who everyone else is doing. Mikami can't understand what aspects L can find to like and isolate in the same sex, since all Mikami sees is suits and hair and whether they have a beard or not. I watch this catastrophe unfold until it turns to me.

"What about Yagami. Is he your sort? Would you do Yagami still?" Mikami asks him. Oh, and some. L looks at me over the rim of his glass and the hairs on my neck rise at some sense of predatory danger which I'd welcome with open legs.

"If Light would give me the time of day, he'd be very much my sort," he replies. I can't let this go. I lean back in my chair and observe him cooly but oh, my God. If this goes where I think it's going to go, it'll be a good idea to put my jacket on my lap or I might have to tuck a raging erection into my belt or something in case people think it's a coat rack. We're so fucking obvious but Mikami couldn't see it even if we did a sixty nine right in front of him.

"I'm very fortunate then. I think you'd eat me alive," I say, lighting a cigarette just to blow some smoke into his face slowly. He exhales through a slightly smiling open mouth.

"Like a dancing prawn," he informs me huskily.

"Mmmm…"

"I had dancing prawns once. It was a special at Haruki's," Mikami tells us, but we don't care.

"You're missing out on a lot, Light. Are you sure I can't bring you over to the dark side?" L asks and rubs the back of my calf with his shoe-clad foot under the table. Black Italian leather lace-ups with embossed detailing and perforations. Welted construction which secures the leather upper, sole, lining and insole to the welt by individual and open-channel hand-stitching. Gucci.

"Hey, hey, he has a pregnant wife at home. None of that bollocks," Mikami laughs, but with a tone of seriousness which he thinks L should take notice of. Maybe he's not so blind. I can't help but laugh at it though.

"Ha! Bollocks," I repeat. Mikami suddenly looks thoughtful and reflective, which rum has a tendency to do to a person.

"I did it with a man once," he tells us. We're both surprised.

"Really?!" L says with intense interest, forgetting about me and my leg to lean towards him instead. I kick his shin under the table so he turns back to me and smiles. The fucking nerve.

Mikami nods emphatically while he swallows his rum and indicates towards me with his cigarette hand so two fingers are pointing at me like a gun "You remember Shingo Mido, don't you?" he asks me. God, Mido got around. I consider how much to say before my gin and tonic hits me again with lemon and pine trees. I don't know what L finds to like in this stuff. I'm not godly with Mikami today. I must show him that I am fallible too so he can trust me and tell me absolutely everything and do absolutely everything I want him to do. As long as he feels appreciated and trusted, he's an idiot.

"Used to be in ummm… Finance about eight years ago?"

"Yeah."

"I was with him too," I admit, looking at my drink regretfully. Eight years ago. I was young and Penber's aide. He was influential. I was not stupid. It was also a bit like sleeping with an uglier twin brother who'd let himself go a bit.

"Ya- fucking- gami, I didn't know you'd swing!" Mikami shouts his surprise far too loudly as he slams his glass down on the table. "I can't believe we did the same man. I thought you were straight as anything."

"I had no idea either," L says, looking at me and my revealed indiscretion of life. "This bisexualism is turning into a bit of a social epidemic, isn't it? I shouldn't complain but, I don't know. This thought might keep me up at night."

I say a 'hah' rather than laugh it out. My mouth feels very dry suddenly and I have no choice but to drink more gin.

"You know that in Ancient Greece, they didn't distinguish sex by gender. The thought would have completely confused them. It was all about who was the penetrator and who was being penetrated," he informs me.

"Oh to be in Ancient Greece."

"It wasn't all that. Homosexuality in all its wonderful forms was reserved for poets and the upper classes as far as I can tell, and it was mostly paedophilia but let's skip over that. The penetrating corresponded with high social status and age. An older man would take a pretty someone or other in a loin cloth and teach him about _all _things in return for youth, beauty and promise. It was a rite of passage in many, many, many ways."

"Passage, eh?" I smile back at him. We're both tilting our heads to one side. It must look ridiculous.

"You know what?" Mikami exclaims before lighting another cigarette and scratching his ear, "I just wanted a promotion."

"The older man had to court the younger one," L continues, because nothing can stop him now, "which must have been annoying. And the younger one was expected to hold out for a while, which must have been even more annoying. It was so he could make sure that his suitor didn't just want to shag him senseless, but felt a genuine emotional affection for him and wanted to be his mentor. The object of these 'affections' had to play innocent and look at the floor a lot, otherwise he'd be considered a slut. Did you hold out, Light?" he asks me slowly. Lawyer face. Lawyer face and lawyer voice and lawyer wants to fuck me.

"Can't say that I did," I reply. My teeth graze my bottom lip as I smile and he sighs like he couldn't have hoped for a better answer.

"Oh."

"Which way did you go, Yagami?" Mikami asks me. "I went bottom."

"In every sense?" L inquires.

"Yes. Hadn't tried it before, y'see. Give it a go, I thought. Only live once, but you can't be sure of a person's hygiene. I did not fucking like it, no," he says without doubt. L leans towards him again while resting his face on his hand and looks very sympathetic to his plight.

"He wasn't very considerate?"

"Didn't even give me a reach around."

"That's terrible, Teru. Can I call you Teru?"

"Mikami. Enough," I say firmly. Enough of this fucking shit. L's the biggest whore in the entire world, why on _earth_ have I ended up with him?

"There's a book. Very famous. There's actually a happy ending, which is unthinkable for homosexual literature. It has a scene in it in which some very English students are reading the classics, because that's what happens at Oxbridge; we sit together and eat scones and read ancient gay porn to each other and that's the way it's been since forever. But anyway, the professor in it says: 'Omit the reference to the unspeakable vice of the Greeks!'" L laughs for a moment before turning back towards me to speak softly. "And I read somewhere else as a student: "I too have been revealed as captivated by love for a handsome boy." _Oh_.

"How's your, um, what's his name?" Mikami asks him, and both L and myself reach for our drinks.

"He's ok, thank you," he replies. No, no, no, he who shall not be named is nowhere near this fucking conversation. He's not even on this plane of existence. I'm going to crush my glass to dust in my hand, aren't I? I'm so consumed with jealousy and rage that I'm going to do that thing people do in films for a bit of drama and brooding emotion. Earlier this week, in the middle of something very penetrative, I put my arms around L so he couldn't see my face. I strained a back muscle in the process and Kiyomi had to put a heat compress on it for me that night. I told him that he had to get rid of Stephen because I couldn't stand it. I can stand it, but I was caught up in the moment and it annoys me sometimes to think that they share the same bed every night. He didn't say anything and neither of us have mentioned Stephen since. I put the glass down.

"So they weren't equal relationships then?" I say sounding a little more angry than I meant to for a well-executed change of subject.

"The Greeks? No. Hardly ever. Alexander the Great did love his Hephaestion though. He's my statue, Light. You know Hephaestion. Late nineteenth century marble. Beautiful thing, although he doesn't look a bit like Jared Leto. He was a present from when I was someone else's Hephaestion. Alexander made him into a divine hero after he died. He wanted him to be made a god at first, but he settled for a divine hero. Isn't that nice? But then, he also named a town after his horse, which lessens the poignancy a little. And Alexander the Great's father was murdered by _his_ boy, so there's a lesson to be learned by us all. You couldn't make this shit up. But, etiquette was that after the boys weren't boys anymore and if all the fun carried on, then they were a laughing stock; seen as women, and we all know how history has treated women. The older men I can understand, but the boys, no. Not any more. I feel a bit sorry for them really. Didn't sound like they had that much of a choice and the way they've been described is a bit sad. Like they're not in need of anything. Just there to be admired by someone else. I heard them described once as something like a god, or the statue of a god."

"I don't understand the suitors," I mutter.

"Oh?"

"I mean, what's in it for them?"

"Thighs, Light. Thighs. Bit of frotting, you know."

"But what are they teaching the younger ones?"

"Thighs? I don't know. How to be a man, apparently."

"I see." Yes, teach me how to be a man, you beautiful bastard. You've taught me a lot and I feel like I've given you nothing in return except money. I could teach you about righteousness and true justice. I could teach you how to be selfless even though I'm not selfless. How to want things for someone other than yourself. Because it's right.

Mikami seems irritable now and is looking around the room manically while holding his empty glass out like someone might just fill it up out of the goodness of their heart.

"Well, as I said, I just wanted a promotion," he says.

"And what happened to this Shingo Mido who corrupted you both?" L throws in the amongst the wreckage of a broken moment. "I do hope that you got your promotions or whatever you were after."

"No idea what happened to him. He lost his seat and never got back in. No loss," I tell him, standing up to get another drink. He breathes out some kind of near orgasm.

"Did you just come?" Mikami asks him, shifting in his chair and pushing himself away.

"Of course not. Believe me, it takes more than that and you wouldn't need to ask if I had. No, I was stunned for a moment by how political and economically sound our Prime Minister looks this evening."

"Okaaaaay," Mikami physically rolls.

"Does anyone want another drink? I'm going to be brave and go to the bar," I say. I haven't had to go to a bar since I became Prime Minister so it's almost a treat for me.

"I'll have another one of these, thanks," L says, tapping his empty glass. Yes, three gin and tonics altogether and that's your lot.

"I'll have champagne," Mikami says quickly. So quickly that he clearly hopes that I wouldn't notice that he's taking the piss. Champagne. Fucking three thousand yen a glass for anything decent.

I go and I don't think that anyone recognises me, or at least they're not letting on that they do, and I turn around while I wait so I can lean against the bar and watch L talk to Mikami with my finger settled on my belt alarm, just in case. I must look like a cowboy. I sigh indulgently. All this talk of thighs and intercrural sex. L has a powdery quality to his skin which I can really only admire when he's not looking, because close up he'd wonder what the fuck was wrong with me.

The brothers' night out has all but ended even before I come back with another round. We've exhausted everything we want to talk about as three people and, without discussion, we eventually end up on the pavement outside. The trucker in the dress is still alone when we walk past him. My car is waiting with a driver and my bodyguard inside like I'm being picked up by my parents. Mikami's car's in one direction and L's is in another. I offer them a lift to their cars and Mikami accepts but L refuses. It's the wrong way around. Mikami's over the limit, so I'll have to drive him home to avoid him killing himself and dragging me into a scandal and accusations of neglect and heavy drinking at the tax payer's expense. Plus, Naomi can't really afford to lose another partner.

"Night then," Mikami says to L. He shakes his hands out, stuffs them into his pockets and slouches off towards my car, leaving L and myself to do that gazing thing. I want you to come home with me and never leave. I blink slowly with no rhythm or reason, like I'm tired but I'm not, and he looks about sixteen years old with not a line, not a wrinkle.

"Goodbye, Light," he says quietly.

"Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

I'm in my box. L calls it the box. He also bought me a framed, signed, limited edition Shepard Fairey screen print for my office which says 'obey' in big letters. I didn't think it was very funny. I do think that it'll increase in value though, so I've put it into storage. I don't know how many people know about the secret of the box, but there are definitely fewer workers walking past and when they do they're bizarrely well-behaved. I will take out my suspicions on my secretaries.

On hot days like today, I have to draw the blind at the window, otherwise it becomes a hot house in here, like the fucking jungle. I've darkened the other walls because everyone looks incredibly ugly to me today. I've been in since five because of something I can't sort out now, though I've tried to think of ways. I can't do it; I'm not anonymous anymore and I can't risk it. L will sort it out. L will sort it out.

I see him through the door and he doesn't even have to ask to be let in anymore. My secretaries don't even bat an eyelid at how he never knocks. He never knocks, he never closes doors, but if he does, then he locks them, like now. Fire safety be damned. I know what a turn of a key means and a heavy ache spreads and warms. He has a tenure's free entry to the box. When I leave, I'll have it torn down and broken up. He sees me and smiles and he has the most perfect smile I've ever seen. It's just a straight line of teeth but there's something about it which is like that of a brat who's getting away with murder. I never smile that broadly, though my teeth are perfect and I have no reason to hide them. I just don't want to broadcast my feelings.

"I _might_ have crashed my car last night," he laughs guiltily while he takes off his jacket. God's sake.

"What?"

"I drove it into Stephen's car. Ha! Poor Stephen. It's only a week old. You'd think I'd killed someone."

"What happened?" I ask as we walk towards each other.

"I don't think that I had enough to drink. My reactions were terrible. Drove into the side of it."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he says softly when I reach him. He touches my face with his fingers. "He shouted at me."

"Stupid," I whisper and drag my lips across his lightly. My eyes are closed and all I feel is his closeness and his hand on the back of my neck and a want and a need that I always want and need now.

"Yeah," he whispers back. He kisses me and it's more breathy than anything, with the faintest moist pressure and openness as his tongue works into my mouth. It's so slow and lazy and complaisant and I don't kiss people like this. He sighs.

"Be a love and blow me, will you?"

I laugh and smoothly drop down to my knees. I must keep my workforce happy. The metal zip of his trousers races to follow where I drag it, and I look back up at L and his dark eyes. Early wake-up call. His cock is in my mouth when I hear the rasp of the glass becoming clear when he pulls the cord. From the corner of my eye I see people walking around aimlessly outside, stopping to talk in pairs for seconds before walking off again like brainless morons in a locked room. All they can do is circle while I suck L off against the window. L's trying to watch them but can't, but he's fighting with his eyes to try to keep them open anyway. I put him under my tongue for a moment and encase the rest of him in my hand. He grabs the nape of my neck and collar tightly.

His breath stutters like his lungs are giving up when I go back to sucking, then let him thrust his hips forward, forcing himself further into my mouth in repeated, probing movements. I suppose that you either have to be really stupid, really trusting, or you have to really like someone to let them do this. The burning choking feeling as it hammers the back of my throat makes my eyes water. I want to be apart from myself and watch. I'd be disgusted. I think of my 'obey' print, and then I let him go.

He doesn't understand. His panting is rushed but slowing as he looks at me like I'm the cruelest thing in the world. I stand and his eyes follow mine. He's going to say something. He's going to say my name and swear at me probably, but I move quickly to his mouth and cut off his words. I don't need to hear my name right now. I don't want to hear it. Taste yourself on me and see what you've done.

He presses into it, raising himself from the glass to crush his lips to mine until there's nothing but the taste of him in our mouths and it goes right to my core. I smile as I kick his legs apart and knock my knee against him. I'm not too careful or thoughtful. He gasps with the pain of it, and how he throws his head back against the glass as he sinks to the floor makes me bite my lip as I inhale. Pale neck all stretched out with tendons throbbing with vulnerability, cut off by a horrible white collar.

"You need me!" he says through clenched teeth.

I look at him on the floor and can't comprehend what he's said or what I've done. The idea of needing him or anyone. I only need basic things to keep my body alive. You can't need a person; you just want them around or not. But then I think of when he wasn't around and I felt empty and voiceless. I needed him in an almost physical way. I instantly regret what I've done. I did it without thinking. A latent vengeance for being humiliated, disgraced and violated. I let him do it; I violated myself and I still feel so much hatred towards him. He's everything I despise and adore. Gagging on swollen flesh, what the fuck am I doing?

"I need you?"

"Yeah... you kneed me, you fucking... bastard! With your knee!"

"Oh." I smile viciously. It's not what I thought. "Yes. I did."

He looks back up at me, the look of discomfort changing into something else, something more recognisable on him. I know it well. It suits him.

"Do you feel better now?" he asks, smiling back at me, dragging air in and out of his lungs but it's not helping him.

"Yes."

He laughs through pain. It was inevitable that I'd do something like that to him, but didn't I say that we wouldn't hurt each other now? I lied. A knee to the bollocks doesn't count though, really. I drop to the floor again and crawl the small distance towards him to nip at his mouth.

"Did it hurt a lot?" I whisper.

"Yes," he says, all sleepy eyed.

I kiss him as I unzip my trousers so the sound of it mixes with his breaths. He'll feel sick. His stomach muscles will be in seizure, all the wind will have been knocked out of him, the pain will be throbbing and I won't let him recover. I pull at his trousers, now all bunched up at his ankles, until they hang only by one foot like a flag. It makes me laugh to myself, imagining it waving in a surrendering rhythm over my back like I won the war, and I almost miss him say something like a no, but he kisses me all the same. How should I take that? I choose to ignore it. I didn't hear it. I lift one of his legs so the soft inside of his knee rests on my shoulder and he does nothing but claw at me.

One hand rips at his tie and unbuttons his shirt until I can see it all and half-kiss, half-bite at his throat as I enter him. It's not very nice, but it will be soon, mostly likely. He cries out because it is cruel, it is, but he twists and grabs at my shoulders and then my arse. His teeth clench together and he shivers as he rises and falls against me. He makes gasping, whimpering little noises like he's trying to be quiet, and a little cry that I kiss him for with closed eyes because I can't feel anything else apart from just being inside him and waiting until I can move freely. I can find his mouth even with closed eyes. He moans with every slow thrust but each one deeper and with less reserve, and he opens his eyes and kisses me. I bend his other leg and hold his knee as close to his chest as I can without breaking it, but I do think: 'I could break it, I could. Pop the joint right out and snap.'

My fingers are digging into his waist as he clings and moans and shudders and rolls and grinds his hips against me, squeezing his cock hard between our stomachs. It's very good that he's so flexible, I think. I can practically bend him over double into a ball. Yes, it's very convenient. Couldn't do that with with Kiyomi, even if she wasn't a balloon at the moment. He is brilliant in every way, like I needed to be reminded, and Nature takes over so I can't control things anymore, I can only keep fucking him fearlessly like he can't break. His bones dig into me and he seems so fragile somehow and only now at times like this, but it just makes me harder and makes me fuck him harder until the groans and gasps and cringing just become one. I can't tell anymore if there's pain there or not, I don't care. And from here I can see the people walking now. I can watch them and they have no idea. I see every step. I squeeze my eyes shut against the desire for them to see and just keep on walking. Be confronted with the truth of limbs and just keep on walking. My back arches, I let his legs go and he spreads for me like I'm fucking a dead thing. I stay pulsing inside him while I kiss him. He's so slow to respond to me, but I can feel his eyelashes on my cheek and it eases, it passes, it goes and all that's left is ragged breathing. I stay there. I lie on him and wonder if his bones can carry both of us. He lived all these years only to hold my weight.

"That was unexpected... That wasn't what I ordered," he murmurs after a minute passes. He sounds like a cat purring. Part of me knows that we're weird fuckers and I hope that we never stop and become totally vanilla and boring and talk about non-biological detergents. It makes me laugh but I haven't enough air to do that.

"I need a day with you," I whisper thinly into his throat. His cut-throat razored skin. I don't think I've ever kissed a throat so smooth before, not even Kiyomi's. He hums out a low reply and his hands splay over my shoulders until I feel the damp crooks of his shirt-covered elbows around my neck. "I also need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah... It's like it's my birthday and your birthday and Christmas... Fuck, my balls hurt. You're such a bad, bad man."

"This Wedy thing isn't going away," I kiss into his jawbone. His fingers curve around my head.

"What Wedy thing?" he asks.

"L. Wedy. Secretary of State. Died here. CIA think I killed her."

"They don't," he says and turns his face to kiss me. He's still not taking any notice. "They can't prove it anyway."

"They pulled in Mikami for questioning."

"The CIA did?"

"And the NPA."

"Oh. That's... serious." He finally recognises the actual seriousness of it. Yes, it is serious. I've been very serious about it since last night when Mikami told me in the car. It slaps his brain into action and I see it in his eyes as they flutter from side to side, not really seeing.

"Yes," I say. Serious it very much is. They're getting closer to me.

"I'll… I'll ask Stephen. A friend of his is very talky. I'll invite him over," He swallows between sentences and exhaling breaths. "He'll probably tell me anything if I get him drunk enough. Oh God, I hate his wife."

"The CIA are still here?"

"One is."

"Why didn't you think I should know about this?" I ask. It's nearly forgotten now. My voice is almost at its normal level and tone and I want to fire questions at him like he has all the answers. The CIA are still here and he didn't tell me? His eyes are wide again and apologetic.

"He's stayed on with the US embassy. I don't know. I didn't think it was important. Stephen said it was over."

"Stephen lied," I hiss at him. Why does he refuse to see what's fucking obvious? Stephen's a bastard. He wraps L in cotton wool and does all the things for him that I don't. No one can be that nice. He'll have some bodies buried somewhere.

"Stephen's not with the CIA anymore. He doesn't lie. He obviously didn't know."

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes. Stephen does not lie to me or anyone else. He just avoids the truth sometimes."

"Like that's different. I hope you're right," I say, pulling away from him to stand up. I turn towards the window as I fasten my trousers, looking out to the sky, tinted grey from the glass through slatted blinds.

"It's ok. Don't worry about it. I'll find out what's going on," he tells me. He sounds worried. He should be.

I turn back around and smile down at him all pornographic and flared out on the floor, unashamed while he's lost in thought. He wouldn't feel shame anyway, but the way his foot is hidden by his crumpled, empty-legged trousers makes me feel more affectionate than anything else. I would have laughed once and never stopped laughing, but I can't now, I just feel warmth towards him. I'm going to remember him this way later. I'm tired of going to sleep without him there. Without him insulting me when I turn over.

"I knew you would," I reply quietly, so he looks at me and smiles back. He loves me, I know, and he can't hide it. Maybe I look the same way, but it looks so nice on him. I rest my hand on my stomach and feel the dampness suddenly. My shirt is sticking to me like it's soaking wet in a spreading translucent stain. I didn't realise. Wonderful. It's all fine at the time but then I'm stuck with jizz on my clothes and at least half an hour hand-washing them in my bathroom sink when I should be in bed and spending all day hoping that no one realised that I was wearing different clothes to what I came into work with. You can't underestimate the importance of proper planning. Someone, probably me, will have to stand back at the right moment, put all clothes on hangers and lay out some plastic sheeting on the floor. Yes. These things should be like a well-planned murder. I'm working on this idea when some movement outside my office door catches my eye. No, it's not him. I don't believe it. "Fuck me."

"What?" L asks me from the floor.

"B's outside."

"What?!"

"Look! What the fuck is he doing here? Why is he here?" I interrogate him, the panic rising like a plane after take-off. The adrenaline has made me forget that only a few moments before I would have liked a lie down and a coffee. "What does he want with me? Oh God, he's come to commit me, hasn't he? He's come to pull more of my hair out and commit me."

"He pulled your hair out?"

"Pulled some out and put it in his notebook."

L mouths out the letter B without making a sound while he looks at him through the glass. I wait for some indication of life but after half a minute there's still nothing. He's catatonic.

"L, come on!" I say desperately, dragging him to his feet. He's still not moving or speaking and I feel like I have to deal with this myself. I have to make him presentable because he's sitting there with his trousers around one ankle, the wall needs cleaning and B's outside. I bend down and pull his trousers back up over his narrow shoes (Roberto Cavalli patent leather Oxford with laser etched soles and synthetic heels for increased traction. He's worn better) and sticky legs. I don't think that I can make this work. He needs a shower and a completely new set of clothes.

"He can't see me here, Light. He'll know."

"What do you mean 'he'll know.' Straighten yourself out and… you do look a bit sexed. L. Zip. Don't bother, I might as well do it. You just stand there and gawp some more because that's really useful. God, your shirt. When that's dry it'll stand up on its own. Agh! And my shirt!"

"Oh no, I've Christened your shirt!" he gasps and slaps his hand to his mouth as he stares at it.

"It's ok, I have shirts!" I start taking it off as I run to the closet and pull out shirts. Any old shirts. Shirts.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbles, dazed.

"This is one instance in which it's not your fault." No, he just wanted a blow and that's not as messy, usually. That's definitely the way to go for the workplace. This is all my fault. I thought that it was a brilliant idea but I didn't think it through and now we're covered in semen and B's outside. "Here, have one of my shirts. Wow. It's like he's looking right at me," I say, and L nearly screams as I stare at B staring at me.

"Don't look into his eyes!"

"L, he can't actually see me."

"Don't let him in!"

"Just tell me what he wants."

"I don't know! He never told me he was coming to Japan!"

The fear has him but at least it's knocked him into moving. He takes off his shirt, rolls it up and stuffs it into one of the drawers of my desk. I'll probably forget about and find it later during a very important meeting. Everyone will think it's my wank rag. He looks like he's seen the horrors of war as he pulls on the shirt I gave him. It's painfully noticeable to me that it's doesn't look like something he'd look twice at on sale and wouldn't wear it even if someone gave it to him. It doesn't look like his, it looks like mine and it doesn't fit him properly and his trousers are badly creased and his jacket too and we won't be able to cover this up. It hits me. We are not going to be able to cover this up. It'll take an hour, showers, new clothes and a carpet cleaner to have a hope of doing it. He is trying though. I watch him while my secretary frantically tries to get through to me. I wonder if I can ignore this or buy us more time. Hide L like he's Anne Frank. My phone is going berserk, a red light is flashing and B is outside staring in at us. No, he can't see us, he can't. It's ok. I can deal with this. Give me a situation and I can make it work. Tim Gunn says that I can make it work, yes. But, no! He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about! There's style advice and then there's having an insane psychologist who's outside my office and wants to get in!

"Great. Ok. Ok. Ok," I say to myself as a mantra, smoothing myself down in the mirror before turning back to L. He's trying to un-bed his hair but he still looks very much bedded. I look better. With my jacket on, I feel a rush of calm determination rush through me. I will protect my loved ones from danger. "Ok. I look fine. Stay there."

I open the door only enough so I can slip outside and find myself right in front of B, who looks considerably more manic than last time I saw him, which I didn't think was possible. He has dark puffy circles under red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. He's disheveled and pale – his lips look almost white – but his suit is disturbingly well-pressed like he hasn't sat down all day. And he's staring at me.

"Hi, B!" I say in as relaxed a manner as I can, but it sounds incredibly guilty and panic-stricken in my ears. I try to steer him away from my office to give L a chance to escape. "This is a surprise! Are you looking for L? He's in a meeting but he should be back in his office soon so -"

"You can speak English now," he states, refusing to move.

"A little bit. I'm still learning but whoa!"

It's no good. He pushes past me, opens the door to my office and I run in after him after a shocked delay. He's standing just inside of the room staring at L now, so they're reflections of each other. I notice that B's opening and closing his fists, stretching out the fingers so that they crack; drawing them back into his palm over and over again. He smiles, but it's almost expressionless. There's a deathly calm in the room now, but an undercurrent of rage and fear. Staring wide eyes. His mouth moves with mechanic precision while the rest of his face is like an inanimate drawing in pencil. His voice is chillingly cheerful as he speaks to L, who looks terrified.

"Baby boy. How nice. Oh. Look at you. Have you just woken up? Don't you look adorable," he smiles at him, I think. His teeth are showing anyway. He turns to me suddenly and points right at my nose so I can't help but take a step back. "You remind me of the alien in _Predator_. The one that looked kind of hot in a combat Rastafarian way until his face went 'WAAAAAHHH!' y'know? L reminds me of Bambi. L, you look just like Bambi in the snow after his mother was shot."

"B!" L says nervously. "You didn't say that you were -"

"Shut the door, Prime Minister, you'll let in a draft, don't worry, I'll do it. My client in Sydney is insane, L. I'm just on my way back. I flew all that way for a one minute assessment. She's mad! I thought I'd divert my flight and stop by to see you for a day or two. Imagine my surprise to find that you weren't in your office. Some blond PVC girly boy told me you were probably with the Prime Minister here. And here you are. Oh, look at this!" he says, but nothing about him moves apart from his eyes as they quickly spin around in office before centring back on L. "You can't see the inside from the outside but you can see the outside from the inside. Fancy. Baby boy, if you don't mind me saying so, you look extremely fucked."

His voice runs down like a record player with a dying battery to a hollow, slow, deep conclusion. It's as emotionless as his face, and though his words started so pleasantly and rushed in delivery, it ended with a last word said with so much venom that it sounds like an accusation. He knows. L knew that he'd know. I don't see what it's got to do with him though; L's not far away from forty and they're not married or anything. I got the feeling when I listened in on them talking at the party that B cared more about what L did and who with than what he did and who with himself, so I'm not surprised at the interest, it's just the level of interest which is strange. I'm waiting for L to shut him down, but he seems transfixed by his eyes. I'm inwardly urging him to say something and fighting against the feeling that I should answer for him, but after a second he laughs vainly.

"Do I?! Well! I -"

He stops when B accelerates towards him so fast that he almost glides. I don't see B's feet move at all but he's suddenly on L and sniffing him in a circular motion around his hair and neck and face and shirt. He grabs L's wrists and takes in a deep inhalation before dropping them so he can drift back to sniff across his chest. L looks at me, more frightened than I've ever seen him and I wonder whether I should pick up some kind of weapon. At times like this, you need a poker or a heavy ashtray.

B wheezes out a noise and rises up to look directly into L's face.

"Baby boy. What have you been doing?" he asks slowly.

"N...Nothing," L stutters. Oh God, L, no, not stuttering. He's never stuttered. He's been alone with murderers and he even had one stay at his house once as a term of bail but he's stuttering now? "I've just been working!" he says.

"You never listen to me," B tells him.

"I do."

"No. Lie."

"I... I... I -"

"I... I... I... I... I... I... I... I... I... I... I... I... What?" B asks, like a creaking door, and jerks his head to one side. I have to step in and break this up.

"Hey, B, why don't we - "

"I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU!" he turns to shout at me, then snaps back around to face L again. "You smell like him you've just had sex haven't you on the floor you've just had sex," he says to him, and so quickly that I nearly didn't catch it at all. The overall sound was of a car driving through a pool of water at eighty miles an hour. It's ok. L can deal with this.

"No, B!" L laughs. "I think you need a downer and a cup of -"

"But you smell like him."

"We must have the same aftershave," L says defensively and goes completely still, cracking immediately under the pressure. Oh, L, aftershave? The most fantastic liar I've ever met is immediately broken. He's _not_ going to deal with this, is he? I can't believe he's going to fuck this up.

"It's not an aftershave that's how much you know an aftershave is only one to three percent perfume oil in alcohol and is intended to close the pores after shaving but you smell of eau de parfum which is much stronger and you put it on pulse points not on your face and neck after shaving because it's typically eight to fifteen percent perfume oil so it'll last all day. No. No you don't wear a scent normally you just smell clean like soap but if you do it's always Angel by Thierry Mugler you have done for years because frankly darling you don't know what you're doing and it's very cheap and common and the bottle is shit but I'm thankful that at least you wear the men's version because you're not a girl. I always liked it anyway because when you wear it you smell like chocolate and caramel and vanilla and musk and coffee it smells like that on you you're very lucky because on everyone else it smells like piss but there's also a base note of tonka bean in there I don't know why they keep putting that in things but_ he_ wears a Tom Ford Private Blend I think it's Tobacco Vanille with Noir de Noir mix and match eh very unusual. No, this is a man who knows what he's doing this man is a connoisseur he likes fine things in life and he buys eau de parfum and maybe yes definitely Tuscan Leather but he wore that yesterday I can detect the leather notes even though he's had a shower this morning and he's sweated profusely since, as have you, have you two been to the gym and had a _serious_ wank this morning because there really isn't any other explanation but that doesn't get around the fact that it's parfum two parts Noir de Noir and one part Tobacco Vanille nice choice by the way you added the vanilla for L didn't you?" he says glancing at me for a millisecond before turning back to L. "And you smell of that you smell like him."

"I wear those colognes," L tells him, sounding like he's about to cry. What the fuck?

"They're not colognes L you're digging a big hole for yourself they're unisex eau de parfum and very expensive you wouldn't spend that much on something you don't take notice of anyway but _he_ would and he does you smell like him."

"Don't tell me what I wear! I bought them and I mix and match them because I like them and I'm unusual. I like Tobacco de Leather and Noir Vanille."

"Tobacco Vanille Noir de Noir and Tuscan Leather L are you seriously trying to tell me to you own those things because if you are you're lying it's not something you'd forget or get mixed up it's a lifestyle choice it's very important to someone who likes perfume and you don't know _shit_ about perfume L."

"I do! I'm not obsessed like you, no, but I can appreciate a nice Tuscan whatever when I smell it! Stop being so fucking elitist!"

"Are you telling me that if I go to your house now that I'll find Tom Ford's Noir de Noir, Tobacco Vanille and Tuscan Leather in your bathroom?"

"Yes."

"Lie."

"Don't try to interrogate me, B. I've been in courtrooms for over fifteen years."

"Don't try to lie to me L I'm a psychologist and I've known you since you were eleven years old and you cried at night but you didn't make a sound and when I asked you why you cried you said that you didn't and you looked the same as you do now because you were lying then and you're lying now."

"What has school got to do with this? Why would I lie? Jesus fucking Christ, you can't turn up and start accusing me of lying about aftershaves! And I wasn't crying."

"But they're _not_ aftershaves L they're eau de parfum I told you haven't you heard a word I've said and I told you not to have anything to do with him but here you are anyway having sex on his floor at nine in the morning when you're supposed to be working is this why you like your job so much L is this part of your job description?"

"We're in a meeting. We're not doing anything! I'm -"

"I beg to differ you smell of Noir de Noir and Tobacco Vanille and Tuscan Leather and sweat and sex because you've just had sex with him on this floor right THERE," he says, pointing to a frighteningly accurate spot on the floor. "What the fuck is wrong with you two having sex on the floor in the Prime Minister's office at nine in the morning and you can't even take your clothes off properly neither of you do you can't hide it by wearing new shirts that's definitely not your shirt that's _his_ shirt it has to be it's lilac for God's sake lilac L lilac a grey lilac but it's lilac all the same and it doesn't suit your skin tone at _all_ so it looks fucking awful but ooooh look at that it'd look amazing on Mr Predator over there it'd make his eyes just _pop_ especially if he was in a light navy suit how about that he's in a light navy suit but you're in light grey so you look like you're going to a wedding you're not going to a wedding are you L what a nice occasion I wish them every happiness but _still_ lilac is a colour which is worn by professionals who are stylistically adventurous and don't rely on old standards like you do. Where's the shirt you came in with or didn't you bother wearing one I bet it'd be caked in all sorts of tadpoles and jam you know I've never understood why you business types have all these spare clothes in your offices because let's face it you don't work very hard compared to other people I mean you're not really exerting yourselves sitting at desks all day but now I understand it's because you're always having sex on each other's floors so _why_ are you doing that L in a place where you can see the outside from the inside but no one can see the inside from the outside you're like peepers in reverse both of you you've both completely missed the point of peeping and exhibitionism you're very fucked up upstairs the lights are on but no one's home not the sharpest knives in the drawer a few cards short of a deck the bats are out of the belfry a few fries short of a Happy Meal the elevator doesn't go all the way to the top floor the antenna doesn't pick up all the channels all booster no payload one IQ point above brain death if I offered you a penny for your thoughts then I'd get change not the fastest ship in the fleet the gates are down the lights are flashing but the train isn't coming isn't that right L?"

"You did... you didn't sleep on the plane, did you?" L gulps and gingerly pats him on the shoulder. "Calm down, B, I'll get you a nice cup of tea and we'll -"

"You're completely gone I can't save you can I?"

"What? There's nothing wrong with me! Really, I think you're overtir-"

"Lie."

"That you're overtired?"

"You have a man at home who loves you just like that he just loved you and you didn't have to pester _him_ for years until he made up his mind because Stephen's well-balanced emotionally a little boring maybe but well-balanced which believe me is pretty unique these days he's not completely insane unlike someone else I don't care to mention but he _might_ be standing right behind me no Stephen does DIY completely voluntarily _and_ he cooks and I forgot to tell you last time but he's nice in a Hollywood way and I think his arse is particularly impressive but you're fucking some psycho who has a wife in _his_ home who's about to drop a baby any second and you've been with him for years because it never really stopped did it it never really stopped."

"It did. I'm not. I'm -"

"You were the most brilliant thing I'd ever seen I wanted to be just like you and I had to watch you because you never looked at me not in that way apart from that one time but you were drunk then and you've forgotten or at least you pretend that you have and you've been killing yourself for years and I've been sitting there knowing that you're doing it and I thought: 'One day he'll come back!' but you never did you never have and I know why, I knew why, it's because now you've found someone who'll finish the job haven't you someone to kill you that's what you want isn't it what you've always wanted you want to die."

"Shut up!"

"Stop it, B," I say, as forcefully as I can. This is crazy now and L's shaking. I can't take in everything that's being said. It's too much. It's like being locked in a TV showroom and all the TV's are on different stations and the volume's up full belt.

"Your capacity to lie is amazing and I think he's just like you and you see yourself in him and you see the end of time in him because you think he's better than you and he'll beat you and you'll die at his hands. I think you're like a child who can't understand why everyone else doesn't see things in the same way that you do because your ego is so overwhelming because you know that you're brilliant and you get off on making people believe your lies because it makes them idiots and it makes you greater than them which is lovely I'm sure but it isolates you too because there's no one on your level so you'll always be alone and you'll keep yourself alone so it's a double edged sword isn't it really? Challenges. Wouldn't it be nice to be stupid just like everyone else but there's only one point of view and it's your own even though you know that dishonesty ends in punishment it always does and you've lied forever how can you stop now?"

"B -"

"You can't be saved you're going to be punished but you won't allow it no one will punish you you'll punish yourself instead because you have the death drive L you have the death drive you feel that you shouldn't be alive you should be dead none of this feels real or right to you does it it's like you're in a dream and you've never woken up you can't find a way out the death drive has taken you over and its only task is to make sure that you die life isn't happiness it's suffering and you have suffered you want it to end death is the goal of life."

"No!"

"You know what the other name for it is, L? Thanatos. Death. You know him. You did Classics. Thanatos. The twin brother of Hypnos. Sleep. You don't sleep you never could but maybe Death will be a friend to you is that what you think a euthanasia a good death is that what you think he is?"

"Stop it right now!" I say. I'm not Death. L doesn't want to die. He doesn't want me to kill him. I won't kill him.

"How do you save yourself while you're here though? You lie. You have pseudologia fantastica otherwise known as mythomania or pathological lying that's you, you lie compulsively to save and condemn yourself at the same time but you're so good at it that no one knows that you're lying but I know, I know you, and you think that you'll fail if you stop lying now do you know why you lie L it's out of fear you're frightened of something and I think that something is yourself."

"No," L breathes out, shaking his head and moving backwards but B moves with him. My hand feels numb because I've been digging the nails into a tight fist. I've only just realised.

"It's the truth you just can't accept it and I don't think that I can help you but well done you've found your suicide I hope you're happy and that he was a good fuck you know what my diagnosis of you is L it's that you're an idiot you might as well kill yourself now."

"No, he's not that!"

"I wouldn't hurt him!" I shout without thinking. B looks at me and my heart stops.

"Oh, so you do love him then?" he asks me, and his eyes are like red marbles in a goldfish bowl which he immediately turns back to L. "I thought so I watched him at the party he was watching you the entire time and he wanted you you were the only thing he saw that night and you knew it didn't you? You wanted to make him suffer like you've suffered didn't you? You wanted him to understand what it's like to love and die and it was a fucking boner wasn't it to have him there and shut him out and make him suffer while you pretend to be something you're not because you're not happy with Stephen he's too much like wallpaper for you just plain wallpaper but you _need_ plain wallpaper L because you need someone solid and dependable who'll tone you down not someone like the Prime Minister here but you couldn't be happy with anyone apart from with him now you've decided you decided when you saw him but that's not going to happen either is it because you want better for him you'll just bring him down with you and you want him to bring _you_ down you want him to kill you you want to die."

"Please, B -"

"But he said just now that he wouldn't hurt you he couldn't because he loves you you're his whole life I can tell but it's getting near the end now you know it he's going to destroy his career for you to be with you but that's not your plan for him is it? You made him. He's a god. You made him with your own hands and you want something good and you've always strived for it but it just wasn't there was it? Not for you. He's there though and he loves you and he'll do anything for you and you want him to do what you can't."

"Yes, I made him," L closes his eyes and breathes out the words. "He's God."

He says that to me and only to me. Why would he say it to anyone else? I phoned him once and said that it was God calling and he told me that it wasn't funny. It's a sex kink; why would he tell B that? I'm not God, I've never felt less like God. I feel like I'm coming apart like L is and B's doing it. It's the room, it's full of it, it's full of B. It feels like it's shrunk with claustrophobia. I remember my belt alarm and press it but it's not there, it must be on the floor somewhere, I can't remember where I threw it! But I can't call security. What if B sounds off while they're there. They might not believe it but they'll always suspect. I need to stop this myself and all the while B is still ranting at L.

"God? You made God? I understand. That's your legacy because what legacy can we leave apart from what we've created something that lives on after we've gone and that's what you have planned for him and you've been carving him out of stone since you met him for that reason."

"Yes. No!"

"But that's not fair on him is it he doesn't want to be god anymore he just wants to be with you and you're not going to give him that."

"B, stop, please, I can't stand it!" L screams. He crunches his fists around his head to try and protect himself like it's a physical attack and I don't know what to do!

"The only thing you feel is destruction that's all you are," B tells him.

"No."

"You're in love with him you have been since the moment you met him you've been lying to me all this time."

"No. I haven't lied to you."

"Lie."

"I'm not lying!"

"You're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a liar you're a -"

"NO!"

L's back falls against the wall and I run towards them, grabbing B's shoulder and tell him to back off. His head slides around to face me with an bizarre smoothness. I've never seen anything like him. He doesn't seem real. I see then that he doesn't move because he doesn't have to. There's nothing but white noise in my head and B's voice. I can't think.

"Back off. Back up. You need to keep out of this Prime Minister," he says. He moves out of my grip and herds L against the wall. L tries to look away from him, but he can't avoid B's words like knives right in his face.

"If you lie to me that's the end I knew it I knew if you lied to me that would be the end I couldn't help you I've always been there for you always like you've always been there for me but you're pushing me out you don't want me here it's just him it's just him and no one else I didn't think that I'd come back here to find that you're such a fucking idiot. And that's my diagnosis of you, L. You're a _fucking_ idiot!

"Hey! Watch your mouth." I say lowly, suddenly able to move again and barge in between them. L runs suddenly for the door and rocks the handle back and forth in desperation. Why won't it open? He looks at me, bone white and with pure fear in his eyes as he struggles with the door. I see my secretary out of the corner of my eye stand up outside, but she can't do anything and neither can I. Why can't he just open the door?

"Light! Open the door!" he begs me. But why can't you open it? It's just a door, L! He starts coughing and retching then. He lets go of the door and doubles over, choking on dry air and trying to stop himself from throwing up. I can't believe this is happening. I can't move again; I can only watch him like B is. Both of us watching someone in pain and not doing anything to help them.

But B floats past me again towards L and I still can't move. I can't let him near him! He's hurting him, what the fuck is he? He takes L by the shoulders and forces him to stand straight. All I see is L's face so pale and clammy and with darker, almost green grey hollows under his eyes from sickness. He looks like he hasn't slept for years and B's draining him of life, and I still just stand here.

"I locked the door when I came in L I have the key you're trapped in here with me and the truth how do you feel about that L what are you going to do?" B asks him.

"Stop it! I'm going to be sick, B!" L rasps, fighting against both the nausea and B, but B takes him into his arms and I think that maybe it's over. No one could be so pitiless to keep doing that to someone. B's going to stop and let him go. He doesn't though. He just whispers in the same insanely fast way into L's ear while L hyperventilates on his shoulder and grips his arms with his fingers, thin and spread out like spider legs.

"I don't want to do this to you L I love you you're my only friend but someone has to tell you you have to stop doing this because you've found him now and I don't think that I can stop you but I don't want you to do this please don't do this please don't do this please don't do this please don't do this."

I'm not going to kill him, but I'd kill B. I run towards them and tear B away from L, flinging him backwards by his jacket.

"That's enough! Leave him alone," I say and I fucking mean it. That's the end now. B gathers himself and strands straight again to glare at me with such shocked loathing. He's not human. But he has to be. "Give me the fucking key," I tell him, holding my hand out, and he carries on staring at me with the widest, glassiest eyes I've ever seen. I hear L breathing heavily behind me. B looks at him, then reaches into his pocket slowly and holds out the key.

I grab it from his hand and spin around to open the door. My hands are slippery and clumsy and so slow, but then the door clicks, I open it and pull L outside with me, leaving B behind. I can feel his eyes in my back as I walk L away quickly. I can still feel his eyes even when we've walked around a corner, and I have to turn around to check that he's not there. He's not following us.

L darts away from me after a minute and runs into a bathroom, straight into a cubicle, collapses at the toilet and throws up into the basin. I think he'll never stop. Even when there's nothing left in him, he's still retching, his back heaving and I watch him. Why am I so fucking useless?

I lean against the partition between cubicles and listen to him try to vomit up something he can't get rid of. The sounds of purging grow less and less and further apart until at last he's just breathing heavily. The toilet flushes, and after that he walks past me towards the sink to splash water on his face, rinse out his mouth and I'm still, still just standing here. He turns to look at me and smiles bitterly - I don't know how he can - and slumps to the floor to slouch against the wall. I join him.

"Are you ok?" I ask. I think I must look as slack-jawed and tired-looking as he does and completely empty. I'm trying to get my head around what happened.

"Yeah… I feel just… great," he breathes out.

Kagura from the Treasury comes in and stops to look at us sitting on the floor.

"Gastro," I tell him. He pouts, nods in sympathy and walks into a cubicle. We hear him piss while we're just having trouble breathing regularly.

"I'll get rid of B. Stay here," I mumble, not relishing the thought. I'll call security. I'll get rid of him. As I start to stand, L grabs my arm and pulls me back down again.

"No. Just… I'll speak with him," he says.

"Not a good idea, L. He made you physically sick by speaking to you."

"That's his method… It's a… 'kill or cure' kind of thing. God... he hasn't done that to me since we were fifteen and I ended up in hospital then. I'm lucky to be alive."

"What he said, was it true?"

"I don't know."

"You want me to kill you?" I whisper. I'm not angry or horrified, I just want to know.

"No," he exhales and rests his forehead on his bent knees.

"I wouldn't kill you, L."

"I need to… find B."

"Leave it for now."

I hold his hand on the floor. Kagura comes out of the cubicle and stares at us again while his hands hang under running water.

"And his dog's just died," I explain to him.

"I loved that dog," L says sadly.

Kagura nods again and walks out, taking some hand towels with him. No one wants to stay around gastro and personal tragedy if they can help it. After he's gone, I cup L's face in my hand and turn it towards me.

"Are you ok, really?"

"Yeah."

"You should go home."

"I won't feel any better there."

"You stay with me today then."

"We never get any work done," he smiles tiredly.

"What if he comes back for me? I'm scared of him," I smile back.

"You're scared of no one."

"I thought that, but then I met B. Please. I'll let you work, I promise. You can have a shower. I'll ask Mihael to bring over another suit from your office and then you can do whatever you want."

"A shower in the bathroom mini-box?"

"Yeah."

"What about my clothes?"

"Leave them with me," I say, pinching the hem of his jacket. It's a silk and wool mix. "I'll be scrubbing at mine later anyway. I'm getting very good at it now."

"You'll scrub my suit? That's true love, that is," he says and I snort shyly like an idiot. "Ok. All that sounds ok. Bathroom mini-box."

"Your friend is mad," I tell him. Like that needs pointing out.

"He's the sanest person I know," he says and coughs, then closes his eyes and mouths out another 'B' as he leans towards me. I kiss his forehead and rake his hair back off his face so he looks just slightly more professional. I feel so sorry for him. I wish I felt it and not him.

"Come on then," I say and lift him to his feet.

When we get back to my office, which I really don't think it's the best plan, it looks like B's left already and my secretary confirms it. I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief but L becomes upset and anxious that he's gone just like that. He phones him with his back to me. It sounds that B's picked up but won't talk, so L's just apologising, begging him to speak, he knows he's there because he picked up, asks him to meet him, stay at his, they have to talk, all that shit. I don't know why he's apologising. I don't know why he's phoning him in the first place, but that's L, I suppose. When he finishes with that, he looks like he's aged over a one-way phone call. I decide that it's not a good time to discuss a press release about a proposed ban on TV advertising of unhealthy food between seven in the morning and nine at night, so I'll release it myself and email it to Mihael. It makes me nervous somehow, because it hasn't been read over. I start to think that I've emailed it to the wrong person, maybe there are spelling mistakes everywhere, maybe my opinion is completely wrong? There's an official consensus but I don't know what my opinion is anymore.

I'm just going to ask L what his opinion of TV advertising of unhealthy food is, because he's not constrained by what is politically right and inoffensive, but then, he likes unhealthy food. He sits down on my old lounger, the one he's always lounged on so it's practically vintage now, and I decide against asking him that too.

"He won't speak to me," he says.

"I thought that much."

"That's it then. I'm completely alone."

"You're not alone, L."

"B's always been there. He's never avoided me."

"At least he answered the phone."

"He didn't say anything."

"Nothing at all?"

"No. Just nothing. You know when you're leaving a message on someone's machine and there's a moment when you actually hear yourself? I mean, you really hear yourself and you sound so fucking stupid. No, you've never had that. It's ok."

"You can talk to me," I tell him. He turns around to look at me like he's trying to figure out if he can or not, and his eyes fall to the floor like shedding leaves. "Or you could go to sleep for a while. You look like shit. Sleep then shower or the other way around."

"I have... work to do."

"Well, it can wait. I'll wake you in an hour."

"If my phone rings?"

"If it's B."

"Light?"

"Yeah?"

"I slept with Stephen last night. I just... I thought you should know," he says. It's a punch in the gut and I'm not sure why. It's not a surprise to me but I don't want to hear dates and times and actually be told. I think it's cruel of him to tell me. He's definitely getting some action lately between Stephen and myself, but why does he have to tell me about it? I've never kept him up to date with what I did with Kiyomi, because it's insensitive. She's also pregnant so it's extremely obvious. I imagine that it was an angry fuck after he was late and hit Stephen's car. Stephen had probably made lasagne in his apron with some shit jazz on in the background, lit some candles and it was all ruined, then L crashed into his car so they had a big fight which turned into a big fuck. I imagine all sorts of things.

"Right," I nod and swallow. "I mean, I know that you do."

"Yes, but this was different."

"Did you ask him if he was God?" I laugh, the bitterness oozing out of my words.

"Stop it."

"How was it different then? I don't know if I want to hear it though. I don't want to hear it."

"It was different because I left you on the pavement and it was that day all over again. I still expect you to fix all this, like I thought you would that day. Just to tell me what's going to happen, because it's in your hands. But you didn't, you couldn't. I go to the airport or you get in your car. Either way, one of us leaves. I always want you to say something you can't say. I went home and I slept with him instead and I wished he was you. I haven't felt like that before. I like Stephen," he tells me, turning his face towards me but not looking at me. "Now it's all wrong."

"Kiyomi asked me if I'd ever have an affair and I told her that she was my affair."

"Ha. Oh, Light, what a cluster of fucks. Now, to me, Stephen's an affair. It's wrong, isn't it? You're good with right and wrong. Shouldn't we be the affair? You don't have a problem with that?"

"Of course I have a problem with it. I am not fucking happy here, L. I don't want to think of you with him. I hate this whole thing and I know that it's my fault."

"You had to do it."

"I didn't _have_ to do anything."

"You're just a bit slow on the pick up, that's all," he says gently and squeezes my hand next to him. "I shouldn't have come back. We're both fuck ups."

"I wanted you to come back."

"But I should have done the right thing. I didn't and look where we are now. I've taken it all out on you because I don't think you really know how angry I am with you. I can't get over it. I look at you and I love you and you make me so angry because... why couldn't you have worked it out sooner? I knew that you loved me years ago. When I was sick and you stayed with me and said that you didn't mind if you got ill too. I know that's nothing for most people. They'd be hoping that they would get sick so they could have a few days off work, but for you, I knew it meant something."

"It was before then."

"What?"

"I think it happened before then. I realised and I went out and bought that massive TV system, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I fucked up your plans, didn't I?"

"A bit. What did you want me to say?"

"Now?" he asks.

"No. Last night."

"That it's not forever."

"It's not forever," I tell him. Afterwards, I wonder exactly what he means by it and what I mean by it and if it's the same thing. Some of what B said was true, I know that. I haven't allowed myself to think about it much, but when I won the election, one of the first things I thought of was that it would be my last term in power, my last term in politics and that I'd resign before the end. I thought so, selfishly and stupidly, because what would I do then? You don't stay around and take a lesser position after you've been Prime Minister. You leave and you don't come back. What would be the point of me?

"Light, how long are we going to keep doing this?"

"Do you want it to stop?"

"No," he says, rubbing his eye lazily while both of us look at the floor.

"Two more bills. Wait two more bills."

"No, not two more bills, not two more anything. I want to be with you," he sighs, but angrily. Oh, I'm so glad. I still can't trust him, but I'm so glad.

"It'll happen," I whisper, leaning towards him to kiss his cheek and let it linger there. "It'll happen."

"I need to speak to B. What if he was right?"

"Talk to me instead."

"No, because it's about you. That's why he's angry with me. It's not your fault. You can't do anything."

"L, I understand. I feel the same. I want to go home and you'll be there."

"Yes."

"And I promise that it'll happen. No more offices. One day, your furniture and my furniture will be in the same house. And it'll look a fucking mess. Go to sleep."


	19. Intermission

**Intermission/Comedy Caper Can't Face Plot Right Now**

**My Nasty Reputation Gets Me Everywhere  
**

* * *

It was going to happen at some point because it was his turn - L is playing host to a dinner party. I've been looking forward to it all day, because I just know that it's going to be terrible. Since L has some strange esoteric connection with pastry, I'm expecting a lot of pastry, calories and an early death for us all. It's been planned since Naomi's party, but I honestly didn't think that it would actually happen. The proper terminology would be that L is allowing Stephen to hold a dinner party, because L has trouble pouring hot water into powdered soup, never mind feed seven people. Seven, because B is still around. He was eventually tracked down in a park and was talked into staying for a week or so, and he shows no sign of leaving. Then again, it's only been eight days. Eight very long days.

Kiyomi blots and reapplies her lipstick three times in the car, and our driver doesn't wait until we're gone to start stuffing his face with cold yakitori. I find this very unprofessional and disrespectful, and he will be sacked for it. After Kiyomi has finished remodelling her face and we're waiting outside L's door, I feel a pang of satisfaction. Others might say guilt, but I say that it's satisfaction. L opens the door and smiles at me so brightly that I think for a minute that that's all the confession that we need to give to Kiyomi, but she thinks that the smile is for her too, and I'm thankful for her incomparable sense of self-importance.

A few feet behind L, I see B standing there, holding a thumbed copy of the _Journal of Abnormal Psychology _(the title is facing outwards – the pretentious bastard) and with an inscrutable look on his face, which is directed more at L's back than at me. Kiyomi goes ahead to find Stephen, wherever he is, and L whispers sweet nothings in my ear. He likes my suit and I look 'mesmeric', apparently (which is a new one on me) but he looks very casual again, so I have no compliments to return. He brings me over to B so we can exchange glares, hidden under some painful display of greeting for L's sake. B is wearing a sweater which looks heavily bloodstained, and I'm worried for a moment, but he always looks like he's just murdered someone, whatever he wears. It reminds me of Rodarte's F/W 2008 RTW collection, and is therefore an out of date statement, not being a classic, as well as looking like a woman's sweater. He's also wearing Band of Outsiders speckled wool trousers, which look very... rustic. All in all, he's a disgrace.

There's a knock at the door and L leaves B and myself to stand awkwardly like there's a queue at the doctor's surgery. I am furious with him and don't hide it. I also couldn't give a shit about him and I don't hide that either. He can't intimidate me with silence and gawky eyes. I look around the room and smile at a painting above his head. He turns to see what I'm looking at, and I walk away while he's distracted.

The rest of the house is dark, but I find my way into L's lounge anyway, which smells of rain, soil and leaves from an open window. The vodka is still behind _Crimes Against Humanity: The Struggle For Global Justice. _I wonder if we'll ever find global justice or whether we should just succumb to vodka. The smoked wood scent of my old cigarette hits me again when I take a tumbler from the drinks cabinet. I was here and here I will always stay. On turning back around, drinking my vodka, I see the white patches of B's sweater first, fading into red and black, and his spectre-like face staring at me in the dim light. He says nothing and neither do I. The only sound is the distant rise and fall of people talking in the other room. After a few moments, he walks out. I smile to myself and raise my glass to his departure.

I think that tonight, Stephen might be leaving us. I haven't mentioned him to L, thinking that it might be best to give him some time to find the right moment to ask about Wedy before he throws him out. He should have done that much by now. I am, in truth, surprised that Stephen's still here, but L can be a procrastinator sometimes, so I'll have to give him a much required push. I'm not going to wait around forever while he skirts around the issue. He needs to be reminded of what he has to do. I want my information and I want Stephen on the next flight out of here.

The vodka has smoothed my almost manic anticipation by the time I follow B back to the voices. I like being despised. I haven't felt it since Jeevas died, and the sense of burning hatred emanating from B, who's unable to say or do anything because of L rather than any notion of social standards, kickstarts my heart. Inner tranquillity which cannot be found by any other means, surges through me because I am hated. My righteousness gorges itself. I feel reborn in a dark room and I am unafraid.

We sit at the table as Stephen and Naomi bring in the first course. What is interesting, and I think that maybe I'm the only one to notice, is that when Stephen sits down next to L, both he and L shift away from each other in their chairs. This is excellent, because it means that L is unlikely to start telling me how nice Stephen is when I finally get him alone at some point, and I assume from the frostiness that L asked him about Wedy and Stephen didn't like being asked. If it was bad news for me, L would have called me, so it's a great turn in events as far as I'm concerned. While everyone congratulates Stephen for his ability to put salad on a plate, I almost laugh at the ludicrous situation when I slip off a house shoe to fit the arch of my foot around the back of L's calf, which he extended towards me under the table. One of the first things I thought about him was that he has some unacknowledged foot fetish, so I've gone back to regularly indulging him. He glances up at me and we smile slyly at our plates while everyone chews and looks at Mikami, who's talking about how useless one of my other aides is. All of my aides are useless, including Mikami, and they might be aware of it, so they've settled into animosity and competition with the aim of proving themselves the best of a bad lot and establishing rank. Mikami has a head start, but only because he's known to be a personal friend of mine, though I show no favouritism at work. That's not done.

B is at the head of the table for some reason, which only highlights how much of an outsider he is, and is motionless apart from lifting food to his mouth with mechanical regularity. He leans back to look under the table. I watch him out of the corner of my eye and keep my foot exactly where it is. He straightens his back in disapproval and I find a new kind of pleasure from it.

Plates are cleared, more wine is poured and Stephen disappears back into the kitchen like a fifties housewife. My foot has now found its way up L's trouser leg. My sock bristles against the scattered hairs as I work my way up his shin. Some minutes later, Kiyomi is telling anyone who will listen about how pregnancy is not fun at all. She reiterates that if men had to have children, the human race would be extinct. It's a pointless opinion, but I have no energy to argue with her and no one else is in a position to. B only contributes that extinction could only be a good thing, which falls flat. While Naomi talks about her gallery's current exhibition, I hear a faint scraping noise, like nails being dragged across a blackboard. It becomes louder until everyone has heard it and look around, trying to figure out the cause. Mikami finds the cause first and shouts in what I think might be genuine terror and points at one of the windows.

"FUCK, NO! It's Freddy Krueger!"

Considering that Freddy Krueger's outside, is amazing how we all stay in our seats. We look at the window and the metal blades dragging against the glass, and I feel so little that I wonder if I'm still alive. L sighs and stands, wiping his hands on a napkin which he throws back on the table.

"No it isn't," he says. "Stephen's raking a garden fork against the window again. Stephen! Stephen, it wasn't funny the first time you did that."

He strides towards the window, shouting at Stephen as he goes, and Freddy Krueger is frightened off by a lawyer in a black Vivienne Westwood long-sleeved V-neck sweater. I can try to appreciate it now, and since it's a fine knit, it has its positives.

"I hate the country," Mikami tells us. I think that he must mean rural living and not the country as a whole, but you really couldn't say with Mikami. He speaks quietly, as though he's worried that he might offend L, but L also hates the country and he only lives here because his misanthropy is a stronger force. "If something did happen, how long would it take for the police to arrive? Still, it must be rare. No one with any sense lives outside of the city and the lions stay close to the zebras."

"You've scratched the fucking window!" L shouts. He opens the window and Stephen climbs in through it, both of them peering at the glass.

"No I haven't," Stephen laughs, and walks back to the kitchen.

"You have. Come back here. Look!"

"That's nothing. I'll fix it."

"How?" L asks, following him and disappearing from sight. "How will you fix it? With scotch tape? I wouldn't mind, I've sacrificed some windows for a laugh before, but it wasn't even bloody funny!"

It would be good manners for one of us at the table to start talking to mask the argument, so I do. I have something to contribute while I pick at my salad.

"Actually, Mikami, crime rates in rural areas are rising. Reported violent crime rose by 80% over the last ten years, compared to a 63% rise in urban areas."

"Oh."

"Yes. And sex crimes rose by 68% percent, compared with a 10% rise in urban areas. Robberies are nearly double the increase of the country as a whole. All of this just underlines how overstretched some of our smaller police forces are, and how important it is to get rid of as much of the bureaucracy as possible. There's so much red tape that it's inhumane. We're actually aiding the perpetrators, aren't we? The police should be on the streets, that's what my father believes. They should be on the streets and have more power. There should be harsher sentencing. This prefecture reported a 168% rise in violent crime." I let that sink in and eat a particularly bitter lettuce leaf.

"It must have been very low before," Mikami tries to soothe himself. Idiot.

"So that makes it ok then?"

"No... but -"

Kiyomi puts her hand on my arm, but I'm not done yet. Why isn't L here to hear this? He'd argue with me and the actual statistics from an independent survey which I've memorised. There are several variants from other surveys, but these are the worst figures. Only L could argue with statistics.

"It just seems like the world's getting worse, doesn't it? My investment in tackling it will show itself in reviews soon, but we should look at the causes. Why do people act the way they do? Is it a failing of society or are they just rotten souls? Maybe we're all rotten."

"This isn't appropriate discussion for the dinner table, Light," Kiyomi says. I'm still not done.

"The world's homicide rate is averaging at nearly seven per one hundred thousand. Did you know that? It doesn't sound like much when you say it like that, but those are just reported murders. Think of all the missing person statistics and those people buried in concrete and in people's gardens."

"It must be less than it used to be though," Naomi reasons. How strange that, a few years ago, if Penber had told her that, she would have pulled a horrified expression and sunk into the depths of despair. Now, she offsets worrying facts with inane comments like that.

"That's complacency, Naomi."

"But our crime rates are very low compared to other countries, Light."

"There shouldn't be a crime rate at all, anywhere."

"Ok, that's enough of that topic, thank you," Kiyomi states. And there ends my conversation for the evening, or I'll be condemned to having a headache. "No politics and no religion at the table. You're not in work. Eat your salad," she tells me. Eat my fucking salad?

"Take the fries in," Stephen mutters from the kitchen.

"They're not fries, they're chips," L argues. How nice to hear him arguing with his plaything over such inconsequential things.

"They're not chips. _These_ are chips. _Those_ are fries."

"No, you mad virgin, they're chips."

"Virginian, L, not virgin."

"I know it's Virginian and I know you're definitely not a virgin. Those days are long gone."

"Just take then in and put on another album."

"More of your shit jazz? I can't tell the difference between the tracks, never mind the albums. Ok. What would you like me to do first, dicksplash?"

"You're a dicksplash."

"No, you're a dicksplash. Don't throw my own insults back at me because that's theft, so think of new ones. You're the worst person to argue with."

"I don't want to argue with you. I just want you to take in the fucking fries."

"You're not in some mission impossible now, Stephen. You're just some dick with chips and a garden fork."

"_Mission: Impossible_ isn't about the CIA."

"_X Files_ then."

"They're in the FBI, you stupid lawyer."

"I'm a barrister! Why can't anyone get that right?"

"Get over yourself and take in the fries."

"Chips!"

"Fuck you."

"No, fuck you and your chips!"

"I'll take them then! Give them to me, fuckskunk."

"Fuckskunk?" L repeats in a high-pitched voice. Stephen reappears carrying a bowl and L follows seconds later, looking very annoyed. This is such a good night.

"Does anyone want any fries?" Stephen says cheerfully, putting the bowl in the centre of the table.

"No, thanks," Mikami answers for us all, making himself the official spokesperson. None of us want them and for probably the same calorific reason.

"Stephen insists that you stuff yourself with potatoes," L huffs out, moving wine bottles out of the way. "Please eat your chips or he might get violent."

"Do you want me to get my gun?" Stephen asks him.

"Yes. Get your gun, Annie," L replies. His expression is almost blank with aggression which is reaching a peak. I have noticed when L has spoken to me about Stephen, that it's usually closely followed by a mention of his gun, and I started to think that Stephen's gun was the highpoint of whatever relationship they had. I was jealous for a while, because I don't have a gun, but I have people who do have guns and, personally, I think that's more impressive.

"I'm going to put some tranquilliser darts in it and deal with you later," Stephen tells him, and sounds worryingly serious about it.

"Try it, you big bastard," L spits before turning to the table with a completely different, friendly tone. "Everyone finished with their salads? Horrible, weren't they? Barely edible, but it's ok, it's only salad. Is everyone alright? Does anyone need a top up or some amphetamines?"

"No," Mikami answers, clearly confused.

"No?"

"I'm good for wine too, thanks," Naomi says, lifting her glass to show him the proof. He doesn't seem content unless someone has more wine and looks at each glass until he spots Kiyomi's empty one.

"Kiyomi, you haven't got any wine! Have some wine! Stephen's such a dick not giving you wine. Dick, dick, dick."

"I can't have any, thank you. I'm... you know."

"A woman?"

"Pregnant."

"So?" he asks, tilting his head to one side as he looks at her. Stephen grabs the nape of L's sweater and drags him backwards, pulling the knit completely out of shape, and I hate him, I do. He's manhandling my... man that I handle.

"Get in the kitchen," he grunts at him. "Sorry, Kiyomi." He's now pushing L ahead of him like he's off to be guillotined. They go out of sight again, and for no reason, because we can hear them as well as if they'd stayed in the room. "Why are you trying to force a pregnant woman to have wine?"

"It doesn't seem fair. Everyone's got wine. I'm all for fairness. Everyone should have wine."

"She can't drink alcohol because she's pregnant. We went over this when you tried to give her a Bloody Mary."

"That's not alcohol."

"It's vodka!"

"The tomato juice cancels that out. I hate people to be sober when they leave my house."

"You really are a dick."

"What does that make you then? Super dick? What are you doing?" L asks. "Oooh!"

There's a sound of plates crashing, and after a moment of horror, I try to remind myself that L is very good at sticking up for himself both vocally and physically. I must trust that he won't allow himself to be molested, at least not while I'm here. Not much time passes before he appears again, smiling at everyone, so I calm myself that no real kind of assault could have taken place.

"Hello! How does everyone want their steaks? Hold on, I'll have to write this down. Fuck me, I'm a waiter now. This isn't right; I'm highly educated. Excuse me for a minute," he says, going back into the kitchen. "Stephen, you should be the waiter."

"I'm cooking shit," Stephen answers him. I now know that I will be going to bed hungry.

"There's no point doing that until you know how they want their shit, surely?"

"That's why you went in there."

"I refuse to be a waiter. I'm a host."

"Just ask them how they want their steaks."

"We should have ordered a takeaway."

"We can't give the Prime Minister takeaway!"

"He wouldn't mind. Well, he might, but he doesn't eat much anyway."

"We can't give any of them takeaway. They cooked and we should too."

"Light didn't cook. He has people to do that for him... FINE!" L shouts, and comes back inside, leaning on the table like the worst waiter in the world.

"Hello! Have you decided how you want your steaks? I know that it's a very difficult decision to make, so if you need some more time -"

"Rare," B interrupts him.

"Medium, thanks, Lawliet," Naomi says.

"And for me," Mikami nods.

"Practically charcoal, please," Kiyomi smiles at him.

"I don't care," I tell him. His face immediately sets into calm anger. A nerve below his eye twitches.

"Why don't you care, Light? You always have something between medium and rare steak just to be awkward, but now you don't care?"

"Whatever's easiest."

"Stephen's very good at cooking steaks. He can manage the full gamut of steak cooking."

"I'm sure he can, but I don't care."

"Should I just throw a piece of cow on a plate and you'll be happy? Just hack at a cow in a field and throw it on a plate?" he asks, waving his arm towards the window like there's a cow out there ready to be butchered.

"Whatever."

"Because that's easiest."

"That's fine then."

"How. Do you want. Your _fucking._ Steak?"

"I do not care," I say again. He crosses his arms and everyone reaches for their glasses so they can pretend this isn't happening.

"Do we need to have a discussion?"

"Why would you think that?"

"You're being very rude."

"You're very rude."

"You are being rude, Light," Kiyomi mutters quietly. One thing you can rely on is that Kiyomi will always side with the person she's most frightened of. It's usually me, but in this instance, it's L, which is funny. Stephen shouts from the kitchen over the sound of a pan spitting hot oil, and if he's heating the oil first then that's completely the wrong way to cook steak. I don't know what the right way is, but I read in a magazine once that to put the oil in first will have tragic consequences. I should have read the rest of the article because apparently all men should know how to cook steak and preferably in a primitive way, but it was and still is fairly low on the agenda in my quest for knowledge. Content that Stephen's cooking the steak incorrectly, I lose my train of thought, only to be reminded when L leans across the table to point at my face.

"Listen, you better tell me how you want your steak or I'll slap you around the face with it."

"I still don't care," I say, and he exhales loudly through his nose. "I will have another glass of wine though. But not this one. It's like urine," I add and grin as I push my wine glass towards him.

"I like it," Kiyomi opines. Naomi and Mikami nod in agreement. The treachery.

"B?" L asks.

"Don't ask me. I'm spoilt. I live in France," he answers.

"Everyone likes it but you," L tells me slowly through gritted teeth. I continue to smile back at him, feeling my eyes narrowing. "I think that we better have a talk."

"Ok."

"Good. B, tell Stephen how everyone wants their steaks, please. We'll be back when the Prime Minister has made his mind up."

I stand and follow L towards the darkness of the rest of the house. Behind us, I hear Mikami and Kiyomi discuss theories about why we're arguing over steaks and why we need to discuss it.

"It'll be PR."

"What happened?"

"Someone's probably been having it off with -"

"I thought we'd be stuck in there for the whole night. You took your time," I breathe out after I've shut the door on the voices.

"I don't know what you mean, Mr Yagami," he replies, dipping his head towards me, then he switches on a table lamp and sits on the bed. What a nice room to end up in. "Fuck's sake, this is an awful party. Who thought of putting dinner and parties together? It's neither one thing or the other. Is this your idea of a party? It's like Christmas with the in-laws. Pass us a smoke then."

"I'll open a window," I say after throwing him my cigarette case.

"Don't bother. Stephen can smell these a mile away, so there's no point hiding it. He'll probably come in with a fire extinguisher, a bottle of Febreze and a dose of chemotherapy in a minute."

"He's such an idiot."

"No, he isn't," he smiles lasciviously and pulls himself further onto the bed as he looks at me, cigarettes forgotten. "Your wife is huge," he says. I can see then that he wants another session of 'insult the significant other.'

"The doctors say that she's blossoming. She tried it on the other night."

"What?"

"Yeah."

"But she's huge! Blossoming in a huge way!"

"She has wandering hands," I grin at him, enjoying how the consternation and jealousy mixes on his face.

"How would that even work anyway?"

"It is possible."

"God, Light, shut up."

"She's worried about me, she says."

"She's not worried about you, she's worried about herself. Oh! Does she think that maybe you're getting it elsewhere?"

"Maybe."

"Tricky," he whispers and lies down. His tongue flicks across his lip and settles on one of his canine teeth as he smiles at me, and that's as good an invitation as I've ever seen. I walk towards the bed and climb on top of it and him. "See, I'm jealous now. You shouldn't have told me," he says as he strokes my arm. I have to laugh at his honesty. "She could weigh you down with that stomach of hers. You wouldn't stand a chance."

"What do you suggest I do?" I ask.

"Keep a gun under your pillow." Hmmm... guns.

"Stephen seems to have more personality than usual."

"He's worried about _me_. Aren't we lucky having so many people worry about us? More specifically, he's worried about getting his end in. I'm very tired and have a lot of headaches these days. He wants me to see a doctor."

"What a shame. Do you have a headache now?"

"No, strangely enough."

"Neither do I, we should make the most of it," I say, sounding very routine and burdened considering that my hands are up his sweater now.

"We haven't got time. And, y'know, the Sex Gestapo are outside. This is Stephen's bed," he tells me pointedly. "There are so many reasons why it's not a good idea that I'm inclined to ignore them completely."

I think he's decided to ignore them completely, since his hands are down my trousers. Belts are overrated. My mouth lags across his and everything becomes very misty and quiet somehow.

"It's your bed and I've been here before."

"Under very different circumstances, Goldilocks."

"L..."

"C'est pas possible."

"Don't you 'pas possible' me."

"Nous pouvons pas," he sing-songs and giggles. What does that even mean? I giggle too and it's all mildly disturbing. God, we're disgusting. It doesn't put me off though. Eyes on the prize! I lean over him towards his bedside table, the surface of which has always been cluttered with odd cufflinks and other unpaired things without homes.

"What's in the drawer?" I ask, reaching inside. My hand immediately finds something which seems useful. "Oooh, what do you know? C'est possible!"

He laughs a little too loudly, and he's still laughing when I kiss him. This goes on, and I am actually considering how we should go about this. We can be quick and quiet and I like the idea of only a door and a dark hallway separating us from people and steaks. Red faces can be from a heated political discussion. No one would know, apart from B, probably, but his loyalty is to L first and there would be nothing to gain in him throwing another hysterical turn. My thumb traces the cap of the bottle as L kisses me. The edge of a small box digs into my palm and my fingers strain from holding too much in my hand. He turns his face to one side so I can kiss just below his ear, but he shouts suddenly, only to clamp his hand over his mouth immediately after.

"JESUS!"

"What?" I ask, then turn to see what he's looking at. B's standing in the doorway. "Oh fuck. He's everywhere." I lift myself up and away from L to sit on the edge of the bed while he sits up and draws his knees up against his chest defensively.

"Hello, boys," B smiles wickedly from the door, the freakish shit. I don't want to look at him, so I look at the floor instead. L sounds as pissed off as I am, but because of their stupid friendship, tries to make a reasonable point instead of throwing the lamp at him.

"B, you know when I said to make yourself at home -"

"I heard noises and wondered if there were burglars having sex in your bedroom. Look. There's a burglar and he's trying to have sex with you in your bedroom. Your French is still lovely, by the way. Informal context too. Sacrebleu! Do you two ever stop?"

He talks in that dull way in some vain imitation of normality, though he always sounds like he's restraining his natural racing way of speech. I put my cigarette case back into my pocket and let my vitriolic anger burn through him as I look at him. I watch him catch fire and be consumed by it. He turns to ash which falls like rain until there's nothing left, then he's right back the way he was. I am unashamed. I bask in the disapproval and opposition of a voiceless man who represents all the people in other rooms who don't know. In this moment, I wish he was Kiyomi or Stephen because I want to see their faces. To have all of them know and see and be told to get out of my fucking way and accept it. I don't live by their rules; they live by mine. I am accountable to no one and L isn't either because I say that he's not.

"Go away," I tell him, which makes L turn his face towards me, but he says nothing. He must know something from the tone of my voice while B can only hear the order which carries it.

"How's the wife, Prime Minister? She looks fit to bursting," B says to me.

"B," L warns him, shaking his head at his friend's foolish antagonism or, for some reason, maybe he thinks that some degree of respect for Kiyomi should be shown unless he's the one doing the disrespecting.

"Should I put the kettle on?" B asks. I look up when I see his feet disturb my peaceful view of the carpet, and he sits down on a chair against the wall. "Don't stop on my account; you carry on. I'll just sit right here, if you don't mind me taking notes. Oh, and the steaks are nearly ready. That's what I came here to tell you."

"Steaks," L sighs. "You came in here to tell us about steaks?"

"I wonder if Stephen and the wife should know about this affair of yours."

"It's not an affair."

"What is it then? One of those open relationships that your partners don't happen to know are open? Is it open season?"

"We see each other out of work about once a week. That hardly constitutes an affair. Why do you care anyway? You're hardly a paragon of morality. You say that monogamy is for the ugly and the stupid."

"Your mind is a strange wasteland. Is locking a door beyond your capabilities now? I could have been Stephen."

"Yes, well, you're not."

"But I could have been. Is Mr Pretty here just so you can get your kicks from shagging while everyone's outside? Your sexual issues are breeding, baby boy. You were never this bad. The steak argument was such a set-up, Christ, it was painful. Was it ad-lib?"

"_You_..." L starts, but blows air out to calm himself down. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I remember you saying to me not all that long ago that it was going nowhere."

"Don't take any notice of what I said."

"You also said a few days ago that there was nothing going on at all even though there really was. At least you're not denying it now, although it must be hard to deny it when you're on a bed and he's lying on top of you and you're bumping the shit out of him like you're in a Rihanna video."

"We're not doing anything wrong."

"Oh, you're in fucking dreamland, L."

"Keep your voice down," I tell him. "Actually, shut your voice the fuck up."

"You're not included in this conversation, Prime Minister, but here's an idea - ditch that lube you've got there and I'll get you some with anaesthetic in, then you've got a sauce to go with your steak."

"Do fuck off, you insane little abomination of a man."

"Ooooh, look who's been to school and bought a thesaurus!"

"That's a woman's sweater, isn't it? Rodarte, 2008, yeah? Yeah. It's not doing you any favours."

"Why aren't you in a mental institution? Why hasn't someone killed you yet? Where are the assassins when you need them?"

"Nearly 78% of voters in the last election think that I'm fantastic. Seventy eight. That's a fucking landslide. The other 22% obviously can't be saved."

"Who were you up against? A hamster and a couple of corpses? I would have voted for the hamster."

"You're just jealous. Look at yourself, then look at me. Compare and contrast and see where you're going wrong."

"I'm comparing and contrasting and what I see is an internalised aggressive, grandiose, supremely cruel, morally repugnant super-ego with a nice face. And, you know what? I've seen nicer faces."

"Can we stop this now?" L pleads despairingly. "B, don't insult his face. He's very sensitive about things like that."

"I suppose that you'd say that L has a nicer face?" I ask. B smirks like a shade of Jeevas.

"Yes, actually," he replies. Oh yes, I know that you think that. I let my head drop down while I laugh.

"Light, that's very hurtful," L says. I think that he might continue but I snap my head back up to look at B again.

"You do know that alcoholism is a valid addiction, not Lcoholism, you -"

"Oh my God, never make a joke again and zip up your trousers," L interrupts me. I look down at my trousers, and yes, it's not exactly how I wanted to look. You can only look so threatening when there's a hull breach on the lower deck. "Is anyone else finding this conversation deeply embarrassing?"

"I'm trying to stop you from making another mistake," B tells him with unexpected gentleness which makes me want to tear his throat out.

"He's nearly thirty nine!" I point out. "Why does he need you to stop him doing anything?"

"Light has a point, I don't need your guardianship, thank you," L agrees. "Apart from being an adult without dispute and of a reasonably sound mind, it isn't any of your business. It's just not on to interrupt someone's adventures, B. It really isn't. You've broken the code, the secret circle. What does Mikami call it, Light?"

"The Brotherhood."

"The Brotherhood, yes! And you've just fucked that up and fucked up a very likely fuck there for me. No one gets in the way of my fucks."

"In Stephen's bed?" B asks staring at him fixedly like he expects L to burst into tears.

"In _my_ bed. Besides, Stephen's hardly in it since he got black ops."

"What black ops?" I ask, distracted by this. I knew that bastard was up to something! He's involved in a covert operation and L's found out about it. I could wring the CIA out to dry for this. This is worldwide front page news! L looks at me with his eyes practically glazing over and I panic. They're too close; the CIA. L didn't know how to tell me and he let it slip and it's bad news. "L, what is it?"

"Oh, Light," he whispers.

"Fuck, L, what's he done? What has he found out?"

"Stay with me for the rest of my life."

"What?"

"See that, B?" he asks the shit in the corner before turning back to me. In my confusion, I must have mistaken the look on his face for worry, when it's actually one of captivated wonderment, so I should have recognised it immediately. He's looking at me like he's seen a dozen fairies dancing in a forest. "He doesn't even know what it is. Isn't he just... I wish that I didn't know what it was."

"What is it?"

"Naomi gave him Jeevas' gamey things. It's a gamey thing called _Call of Duty: Black Ops_. You really haven't heard of it? I love you. It's been making my days hell since he got it. You're definitely the one for me."

"A game? It sounds like complete nonsense."

"Yes. I would say that's a fair assessment."

"How old is he?"

"Thirty five," he answers and nods when my face must contort with disgust, then he turns back to B. "Anyway, you can see this bed as symbolic, if you want. But if you do, maybe it's also symbolic that Stephen always steals the sheets."

I never steal the sheets. I never did and I haven't lately because there's not much opportunity for sheet stealing these days, since beds are a novelty. If anything, L stole the sheets from me; cocooning himself while I slowly froze to death unless I put the heating on. This is another example of how superior I am – gracious and considerate, almost to a fault - and my decision to shut up and let L have the sheets did not go unnoticed longterm. I bet he often thought over the last few months: 'Light never stole the sheets. I love him in a place where there's no space or time.' At least he's learned his lesson. I'm not sure why B's even questioning L's logic, but I've decided to ignore his presence now and surrender to the joy of finding out that Stephen's even more of an idiot than I thought he was. L continues when B starts huffing and puffing to himself.

"I don't care if you approve of what I do or not. You have some vague idea of moral standards and you think that I should live by them, even if you don't. All I know is that this is my house and my bed and my Prime Minister and my dinner party and you've ruined it. You really have to stop doing that because, one day, I'm going to snap and so will your neck."

"If you can't see reason then I don't suppose that I can help you," B says in begrudging and probably temporary defeat. "At least the judge isn't here to see your mistakes. What do you think he would say, L?"

L climbs off the bed at this and walks towards B, who also stands so L won't tower over him completely. B's shorter by a good few inches, so he's never going to be entirely successful at that.

"It's not a mistake and it's nothing to do with you," L says, barely keeping his own voice down. "We're not seventeen anymore, so stop trying to look after me. And, by the way, it was really annoying then too."

He walks away then, and I think that he's actually going to leave me alone in a bedroom with B in a sweater that looks like its been stolen from a cadaver in a forensics lab. I stand up to walk after L, but he stops and goes back to B, folding his arms around him and kissing his cheek. I want to kick him in the balls for being so apologetic. It's really dented the respect I have for him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to him, now holding both his arms like he's about to tell him some plain facts. I hope he does. I hope he tells him to go back to fucking France. "Look, I know, ok. Disaster. That's what you said and that's what it is and I love you and thank you but you have to back off. It's kind of serious shit and if it wasn't then I wouldn't be involved, I promise you. I'd listen to you, I would, but can I remind you again that we're grown-ups now? I know that it's hard to believe but -"

"His wife is having a baby, L," B says, entirely unmoved. Shitstirring, point-out-the-obvious, woman's sweater-wearing -

"I know!" L shouts and cuts himself off to calm down again. "I know. It doesn't matter. People get divorced all the time. That's why we have alimony and child support. I really don't think it will surprise anyone much. He pays far too much attention to his hair."

What? What the fuck has he got against my hair? It's just envy. His hair's a mess. My hair's been voted 'Best Hair' in the _Men's Style:Japan_ awards for the past -

"Prime Ministers never get divorced," B points out.

"There's always a first time."

"And Prime Ministers don't divorce their wives and set up home with men."

"Maybe I should talk to him," I grumble as I straighten my tie.

"There's no point, really," L says sadly, and B immediately starts shouting.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!"

"Like that's possible," L laughs. "Let's go and eat these fucking steaks, eh? You'll have to take what you're given, Light."

He does start to leave us then, and I feel like he's going to take all the humanity in the room with him, but he actually walks around the bed and I hear a drawer open and close behind me. B stares at me like it's a contest, but he breaks first, approaching me until he's looking up at me, hating the fact that I was born.

"I bet you use moisturiser," he hisses. Lame, lame.

"Looks like you could use some," I throw back at him with a smile.

"I really, really, _really_ don't like you."

"Am I supposed to be upset about that? Just don't say anything. Know your place."

"Goes without saying, doesn't it, B?" L says from behind me. "Don't say a word or do that head rolling thing you do, ok? Eye rolling is fine, but don't roll your entire head."

L follows me on my way out the door and B stays some way behind. We sit back at the table and I try not to curl my lip at the sight of the food I'm expected to eat.

"Where have you been?" Stephen asks L.

"Talking."

"The steaks are cold."

"I'll reheat them."

"Mine's perfect, thank you Stephen," I say. It's swimming in a pool of blood. Fucker.

"I don't mind cold steak actually," L shrugs. "It's like steak tartare only luke warm. B?"

"First time for everything."

"This is lovely, Stephen," Naomi congratulates him weakly. The room now has the atmosphere of a black hole. Kiyomi whispers something to me about how I've been gone for ages and how she feels sick and I really don't know how to respond. Her steak looks like it's seen a pan. Mine is a gory lump of flesh.

"Is it ok?" Stephen asks anyone, begging for attention. A short round of approving noises go around the table while I chop up my steak and move it around the plate. "We were just talking about Naomi. She's doing a philosophy course part-time," he tells L.

"Oh. You should talk to B, Naomi. His minor is in philosophy."

"Really? How did you find it?"

"All I learned was what I knew when I started," B says in his gravelly voice. "The price of life is death."

"Oh."

"Or the price of death is life," Stephen chips in. What a cunt.

"That's very profound for you," B tells him in surprise. "Perhaps you're more interesting than I thought."

"No, he's just an eternal English student and reverses statements to make them sound profound," L says and forks his steak like he's trying to kill it. Everyone looks at him and Stephen ignores the insult, or tries to prove him wrong.

"'We forfeit three-fourths of ourselves in order to be like other people,'" he states.

"Can we stop quoting at each other?" L asks him without looking at him. "It's like university all over again, only you're making it less intelligent."

"Bitch."

"Agent Mulder."

"How many times do I have to tell you? He was in the fucking FBI!" Stephen shouts, throwing his knife and fork onto his plate. His face is like the underside of a bridge and L still won't look at him. He picks up his fork again and I smile to myself, drinking my wine casually to coat my words while I watch the fat ooze out of the steak and mix with the blood.

"They're all dickheads though, aren't they?" I say happily. "Nosing around in other people's business in bad suits and sunglasses. They should wear catsuits so they're easier to spot."

Stephen appears to be shocked by my statement. Not hurt or offended, just shocked. Yes, give that to your CIA friends, you friendly fuck and get out of my country.

L laughs at me and then sniggers as he slaps his uneaten steak over onto the other side. Having assigned himself the role of being Stephen's defender, this surprises me and apparently surprises everyone else too. Stephen turns to watch him while L continues to smile, apparently oblivious. The room is awkwardly silent, so his occasional echoing snorts of laughter are the only sounds in the room. I enjoy this moment - the betrayal and the exposed loyalty.

"What?" L asks, looking up at everyone. "It was funny."

"I'll check on dessert," Stephen informs us gruffly. He takes all the plates even though they've barely been touched, and Naomi goes with him to the kitchen. She's the sort of person who has a travel pack of tissues on her person at all times, so she might be useful to him.

"Ah, the splendid dessert," L says as Stephen leaves. "Wait for it, people. He's been doing nothing but tending this dessert since this morning, so no matter how bad it is, we must say that we like it."

"This is terrible," Kiyomi tells me. I don't agree.

"But I find that most things are edible if you put enough cream on them. And we have cream," L adds. There's another crash from the kitchen, which is followed by Naomi making some howling sound of sadness. L reaches for the wine as he talks. "Whoops! There goes another priceless heirloom from the Lawliet dynasty. Must be my dinner service."

"The Limoges?" I ask him.

"Sounds like. Stephen's getting very good at breaking them. I recognise the sound now. Sounds expensive, doesn't it?" That's sad. His Limoges dinner service is a very tasteful turn of the century design with a hand-painted gold border which only highlights the fineness of the porcelain. It's not ostentatious. It doesn't have to try too hard to show its quality. What a fuck-knuckle Stephen is for breaking any part of it.

There's another crash and I wonder what the fuck is going on in there. Inside, I'm crying for the Limoges. It's museum quality. This is as depressed as I've felt all day, despite this being the best dinner party I've ever been to. If B wasn't here, it would have been perfect, but it's still even better than I expected.

"Oooh, there goes another one!" L says, filling his glass up to the brim. "And yes, if any of you are wondering, he's doing it on purpose."

The ignorant cretin. A few minutes later, said cretin and Naomi bring in dessert (which actually looks like a fairly decent cherry marquise, if I was being honest), and the sounds of awe and drama as people are served, conclude with Stephen finally dumping a plate in front of L which looks like streak of shit.

"Oh. Doesn't this look lovely?" L smiles at the plate. "Pass the cream, Mikami?"

We eat in silence and I try not to allow my foot to carry on sexing up L's leg, because he's extremely angry and, from experience, it could easily be directed at anyone and everyone regardless of whether they're sexing up his leg or not.

"I think we're going to need more cream for this," he says and digs his fork right into the middle of his dessert so the embedded prongs leave it standing straight up like a flag pole.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Stephen shouts at him, his patience now totally shot.

"You're breaking all my crockery, that's what. What did he break?" L asks Naomi, who looks desperately torn between telling the truth and lying to hide the true damage to L's dinner service.

"Um... a bowl. But it really wasn't his fault."

"And?"

"A... a teapot."

"My teapot! We're not even having tea! That's just vindictive!"

"Yeah, and, oh no!" Stephen exclaims as he drops his plate on the floor, smashing it into pieces which skid off to all corners of the room. I look back at him like I've seen him for the very first time, only he's slightly interesting now. "There's another plate gone."

"I'm going to bed," L says after a pause and pushes his chair back from the table. Yes. Maybe he needs comforting? I wonder if that would be an acceptable excuse.

"Fine by me," Stephen mutters.

"In the spare room."

"I wouldn't expect you to do anything else."

Stephen is now grumpily eating a breadstick. He's one of those compulsive eaters in times of stress, I'm guessing. It's amazing that he still looks slightly CIA-ish even though he's eating a breadstick. I don't mean it as a compliment. I really don't imagine that I can use any excuse to see L now. Men generally don't need comforting unless there's some kind of sporting tragedy, and L's a lawyer, so by definition he shouldn't need to be comforted about anything at all, but definitely not by the Prime Minister while he's in bed. Faced with the night ending with only a little fumble which could hardly be called a fumble, now I can't think of whether the idea of L alone in bed is worse than him being in a bed with Stephen. L in bed with Stephen makes me depressed, but L alone in a bed when I'm in alone in a bed somewhere else brings a lot of conflicting, base emotional baggage to mind and makes me feel very frustrated.

So, when L stands up and walks away, I nearly stand to follow him automatically because I'm so confused by disappointment at the idea of him leaving, and overwhelmed with admiration at the vehemence of his sudden hatred for Stephen. That, Stephen's burst of personality, and that I actually feel a little sorry for him, since I've been on the receiving end of that too. I live through L's bad manners because I can't afford to be unashamedly rude these days, not that I ever could. But L turns back around with a new plan.

"Actually, no. I'm not going to bed. Light, could I have a cigarette, please?"

I'm stunned into a breathless state like everyone else until L looks at me expectantly, so I reach into my pocket. He leans across Stephen and snatches the case from my hand.

"When did you start smoking again?" Kiyomi asks me. "You said that you'd quit!"

"It's only social and I'm very stressed about life and work and your health but it's not a problem because my doctor doesn't even consider me a smoker and I can stop any time," I blurt out the prepared defence quickly, because there's something very interesting going on in front of me.

"L, don't," B says, looking at the table as he says it, but L completely ignores him.

"Light, do something," Kiyomi whispers. No. I'm quite happy to let him go for it. Like I'm going to stop him. It's the most exciting outburst I've seen since the last time he had an outburst.

"You're not smoking," Stephen tells him with some frightening authority, standing up to cement the sentiment with seriousness and stature.

"Looks like I am," L mumbles around the cigarette and cups his hand around the flame of my lighter. Stephen has another fit and knocks the cigarette out of L's mouth with some kind of chopping action he probably learned from CIA school or _Kung Fu Panda_. There's a collective intake of breath, and L looks like a murderer who's just taking a moment to decide exactly how he's going to kill someone.

"Light, could I have _another_ cigarette please?" he asks slowly, still staring at Stephen. Yes, yes, have all my cigarettes and have me too!

"At least smoke outside," Stephen says, backing down and picking up plates as if he's shocked himself, and the minute sliver of respect I was starting to have for him disappears again.

"This is my house and I'll set the place on fire if I want to."

"You're so selfish. There's a pregnant woman at the table and you're -"

"L, I'll go outside with you," I jump in. Yes, we're going the fuck outside.

"Thank you, Light. Pleasant company. That'd be a change," he says, directing it at Stephen, who disappears into the kitchen while L trails behind me through the dark rooms and out of glass doors. I shut them behind me with a click and the cold air makes my hot face burn as I look at the angular man I know like the back of my hand and who never bores me, both of us breathing heavily. I don't know who designed him, because it seems like a collective effort to create something ideal for me, rather than a fucked up result of fate, nature and nurture. I've been completely won over by him and his sweater.

"That was amazing," I gasp.

"I need a really hard fuck right now," he replies. Right. Every shred of him does, yes. I think of those people sitting around the table and Stephen, who's probably sobbing in the kitchen. I could go in there and tell them that's it's been nice knowing them, but please go away now. I'm tired of them.

"That might be pushing the boundaries a bit too far," I say. I don't mean it. Don't listen to me.

"We'll just say that I attacked you."

"Ok," I nod enthusiastically

He practically runs at me and pushes me against the wall at the side of the glass, kissing me before I hit it, and when I do, it jolts us it closer together. You could lose teeth this way. His cold hand slinks down the back of my trousers and I think how stupid this is. This. We should still be sitting at the table being pleasant to everyone over coffee. I should be looking proudly at how I've deformed my wife's stomach and how I've made her sick. I should be saying how we should start thinking of names because it will need one and it'd better be good, but instead, I'm pressed up against a wall by my Head of PR who's in a V-neck sweater in the freezing cold. I'm not saying this kind of thing didn't happen when I first met him, because it did, but every time I see him now, one of us ends up being slammed into something. I don't see him enough and that's the problem. Now we have no control or rationality, just promises and tomorrows.

"Wait, wait, wait," he says and takes a step away from me. Oh, he has some control and rationality. I turn the side of my face against the wall and breathe out my relief and disappointment.

"You should apologise," I tell him, and he sits on a step and rubs his eyes. The black water of the lake never seems to end.

"I'm sorry for assaulting you."

"No, I mean to everyone else."

"Why?" he asks, and I'm not sure why. He just should. It's what people should do. I sit next to him on the step and still can't think of an answer.

"Because... What's wrong with you anyway?"

"Erm, let's see," he says, putting his finger to his mouth in anticipation of the great think, but I can't wait that long and I sigh with realisation.

"Oh God, you're trying to make him leave."

"It's easier."

"It's not. L, I'm not being funny, but you never had any problem telling me to piss off."

"You're different. I never meant it anyway."

"If that's what you're going for, then he did seem pretty angry, unless he was celebrating a Greek wedding."

He turns his face to look at me as though he's astonished that I exist. Maybe no one has ever fully accepted his turbulence like I do. I see things clearly. Anyone else would say that he's acted like a twat and that Stephen doesn't deserve it, but I don't care about Stephen and I wouldn't stamp out L's barbaric diatribes for anything.

"I'm sick of you leaving," he whispers. I can't help but smile at his sadness.

"You're sick of a lot of things."

"He's just sick," a voice says from behind us. I know that it's B for ballbag. I've begun to expect him to monitor us.

"You are really taking the piss now," I tell him angrily. "We're just talking."

"What is it now, B?" L asks tiredly.

"You need a coat," he answers, throwing a coat towards him. So he's his mother now? He's not wearing a coat but he thinks that L should wear one. He'll be spitting on an embroidered handkerchief and wiping L's face next. How pathetic. "And people are leaving, thank Christ."

"Oh. You'll be leaving too then," L says to me. "You'll go and you'll take your massive wife and foetus with you."

"Yes, but we'll be in work in less than ten hours.

"Don't let her touch you up."

"I will try to remain chaste for you," I laugh quietly. It's useless to try and make sure that B can't hear me, but I don't want him to feel included. "You need to speak to Stephen."

"Yes. Yes, I actually agree with him about that," B says. L rubs his face again like he's trying to rub it off completely and B really needs to go away.

"Will you fuck off?" I know that he won't, but he needs to be told anyway. "About Wedy. L."

"I know."

"What Wedy? What's a Wedy?" B asks.

"And just finish it," I continue. "Ask him and then finish it."

"You don't have to give me orders. I will do it."

"You said that over a week ago."

"Yes, but -"

"I'm keeping my side of the bargain."

"What bargain?" B asks again. He's full of nosey questions, isn't he? "What are you making him do?"

"You are really annoying."

"Who do you think you are, giving him orders?"

"B, you are being annoying," L says. "You don't need to worry, Light."

"Because if you don't, it's over as far as I'm concerned." He needs some kind of motivation. An ultimatum which I have no intention of enforcing. "What you're asking me to do and what I'm asking you to do don't even compare."

"I know."

"L," B calls out to him, sounding quite distressed, "whatever he wants you to do, don't do it." Oh, shut up.

"Go back inside, B. It's cold," L says kindly. "Thanks for my coat."

"Aren't you going to say goodbye to these friends of yours?"

"No," he answers, drawing his knees up to his chest again like a child. "They're not my friends."

I look at B, expecting him to leave, but he doesn't.

"I'll go when you do," he tells me. He's very perceptive and fearless. You could have a conversation with him without anyone actually speaking. I can't be drawn into an test of wills now, spoken or not, so I stand, using L's shoulder as a support.

"Call me if you have to."

"Good of you," he smiles up at me, like it's obvious and it's his right to phone me. "Why do we keep surrounding ourselves with all these people?"

"They won't be around much longer."

"Don't make it sound so sinister."

* * *

My box excludes everyone outside of it. I can't stand seeing people hovering around and wasting time in the department outside, so L coming into my office without warning comes as a surprise, even though in some distant part of my mind, I was expecting him. He heads straight over to my office most mornings to report for duty like someone on community service. Every sound seems painfully loud. His footsteps are like loud heartbeats on the floor. When I push my hair back off my face, it sounds like a gale rushing through a field of tall grass. All I feel is some numbness from reality and sickness from too much coffee.

"Have you spoken to Stephen?" I ask. I don't think he expected to be hit with that as soon as he came in.

"Not yet," he says guiltily. Why am I not surprised? I sigh and walk back to my desk, falling into the chair lazily. "Light -"

"What are you waiting for? A theme tune?"

"I've had enough to deal with to start on Stephen."

"L, priorities."

"It's alright you saying that. Remind me to be as sympathetic when you tell Kiyomi that you're leaving her... You look tired."

"I was up most of the night with Kiyomi."

"What?" he asks. If I could, I'd laugh because he looks so horrified.

"Not like that," I say, only managing a slight smile. "She's sick. She's at the hospital now."

"What happened?"

"Stephen poisoned her with his cooking."

"Oh no, he'll probably kill himself. Really?"

"No, the baby's poisoning her."

"If it's trying to kill her from the womb then imagine the kind of relationship they'll have after it's born. How exactly is it poisoning her?"

"You don't want to know."

"No, I don't, but I have to know; I have to release a press statement. Why aren't you there? You're here. This looks very uncaring. Get yourself back to hospital and make sure that someone takes a photo of you looking this bad."

"I don't look bad and I've been there since three this morning," I defend myself aggressively. "She's at Sanno Hospital but she wants to be moved to Kameda, so I don't know. I'm still not sure which is the best hospital, politically. For someone who says that they're dying, she's very vocal about things. She's going to phone me. I just came back to get changed and postpone some appointments, and I thought you'd have news, but you don't, so this day gets better and better."

I want to close my eyes and put my face on the desk. The feeling is so strong that I struggle to keep my eyes open, so I stand up again to defeat the tiredness. When I do, L walks towards me and unexpectedly pulls me into some kind of bear hug. His hold is more supportive like a crutch than anything else, and my forehead falls onto his shoulder as though I have no say over what my body does now. It's not really helping.

"I'm ok, L."

"I know."

"I'm just tired."

"You've pulled a double shift, yes. You should sleep for a while before you go."

"I've had so much hospital coffee that it's more likely that I'd run a marathon than sleep," I say, pulling myself away to walk around for a while to wake myself up.

"This probably isn't a good moment, but I take it that you've read the papers?

"They haven't arrived yet. Why?"

"Oh. You better sit down for this," he smiles. Oh God, what the fuck is wrong now? I don't sit down and he doesn't wait. "Agriculture's been a very naughty boy."

"What?"

"Yes. Very long article in the _Times_' early edition but I'll edit it down for you." He pulls the paper out of his briefcase. "Ahem. 'They found love in a hopeless place.' I like that subheading. 'Last Friday, we saw the Head of Agriculture, Goro Aihara, publicly attacked by the Leader of the Opposition, Hyosuke Tsukino, in the Diet over his lacklustre performance as Head of Agriculture - a position he has held for only four months – being called 'hopeless' and that his 'dog would do a better job'. Today, with his competency in doubt, it has emerged that Aihara might have found solace in the arms of Shadow Agriculture Minister, Erika Kimura, who has been married for ten years and has two children. Aihara has been married for twelve years and is the father of one child.'"

"No, no, no, no... he's fucking that bitch in the Shadow? Shit fuck."

"At least they have something in common. Let's hope that those kids can make it work this time. There's a lovely photograph on the front page of them both coming out of a love hotel if you'd like to see it?"

"No."

"Are you sure? It's very sordid. Skipping on then... 'It was thought that Aihara would be allocated another department in the next reshuffle, but with this latest revelation, his position now looks increasingly in jeopardy, as the party endeavours to distance itself from past accusations of sleaze. When approached for comment, Aihara-san claimed that he 'sought to soothe his obsession and stress over his job by engaging in frantic activities such as gardening and debauchery'. Kimura has declined to speak, and at the time of print, the Prime Minister's Office was unavailable for comment.'" He finishes, closing, folding the paper and tossing it onto my desk. "Prime Minister, are you available for comment? Your MPs are rampaging around, gardening and debauching whenever they see fit. What's your opinion?"

"Bastard," I say, letting my head fall back. I can't cope with today. I'm despondent.

"It's just a flash in the pan," he assures me. "No one cares. Everyone will be more interested in you and your sick wife now, so it's a good day for burying bad news. Would you like me to sit on you. Would that make you feel better?"

"No, nothing will make feel better. Why are these people elected? How difficult is it to fuck around without the press finding out about it? We've done it for years."

"Yes, but he's an idiot and I think that we've just been lucky a lot of the time."

"I was edging him out."

"I know. You send people to Agriculture when you're edging them out."

"I could send everyone to Agriculture. You know you're up shit street when the best scenario you can think of is if someone blows up the House when I'm not in it. What the hell am I working with here?"

"If it means anything, there's a nice little column on page thirty seven which is very sympathetic to you and agrees with me that you have the worst Cabinet in living memory, or at least since the last one."

"I'm going to murder him!" I say. I'm serious. This is the most reasonable answer to my problems.

"Oh! Yes," L pants.

"I'm going to sack him!"

"Yes! Sack him!" he says excitedly, both of us gaining momentum. My exhaustion has been replaced by blind rage. This is the best idea I've had since I decided to get my suits re-tailored for a more modern fit.

"I'll sack everyone!"

"Yes! Sack me!"

"I'll sack you!"

"Light, you look stunning when you're angry. Do it."

"Get on the desk."

"Face down on today's _Times_! Yes!"

I push him flat across the desk impatiently and he's not going to be able to walk after this. He's not going to be able to walk or sit down after this.

"Whisper something to me about prosecution after I'm finished with you here," I tell him and fight with his belt. What the fuck, belt? He lies completely still, only now he's clutching my letter opener in his hand. The side of his face is on today's _Times_ and their photo of Agriculture.

"Prime Minister, I love my job and I love my boss. Tell me how I can change your mind."

"A disciplinary is required," I say, taking off my belt. I hope that I haven't pressed the alarm.

"Another one! Yes!"

"You're a very valued member of my team."

"Yes!"

"But you must stop making me want to sack you all the time."

"I'll try, Prime Minister."

I drop the belt on the floor... and my phone rings. L watches it vibrate across the desk in front of his eyes.

"Shit. It'll be Kiyomi," I explain, reaching for it. "Kiyomi?"

"Light, where are you?" she asks, sounding shrill with defeat. I hold the phone against my shoulder while I unzip my trousers.

"I'm in the office."

"Can you phone mother for me?"

"Why can't you phone her?"

"I can't speak to her right now, Light. I've had an awful time and it's not even ten yet. I feel really bad. You have no idea how bad I feel."

"I know."

"And I really don't want to speak to my mother. I just want to go to sleep. Why can't you be more understanding? Stephen's understanding and _he's_ a man. What is wrong with you?"

"Is Stephen there?"

"Stephen's there?" L asks and pushes himself up from the desk. I push him back down again.

"And Naomi and my sister," Kiyomi tells me. "They're around somewhere, but I'd swap them all for you, so could you get back here please?"

"Yeah, but why the fuck is Stephen there?"

"Don't swear at me!"

"Stephen's at the hospital?" L says loudly.

"Shut up."

"Don't talk to me like that, it's not my fault!" Kiyomi shrieks at me. I couldn't move the phone away from my ear in time, so now her voice is ringing in my head. "I called him so I didn't have to talk to someone I went to school with when I was five, because she's a nurse now and found out that I'm here. Some people just think that they have a right to speak to you. I was thinking before that no one understands and now they're keeping -" She breaks off to sob and I go back to feeling despondent.

"Kiyomi?"

"They're keeping me in until the baby's born," she wails.

"Oh!"

"I don't want to stay here."

"No, no, of course you don't," I say, quiet and distracted by possibilities with my hand still pressing down between L's shoulder blades. "But you have to do what they say. It'll be for your own good."

"So are you coming back?"

"Yeah. I'll be right over. I just have a few things to do first."

"Light, my nightgown thing is made of paper and it's open at the back."

"Oh."

"It's paper! I'm not origami!"

"I'll buy you some things tomorrow."

"No, you don't know what to buy. You'll buy something stupid with feathers on that won't fit."

"I wouldn't buy anything with feathers on."

"You want me to look like a parakeet. You always do."

"I don't want you to look like a parakeet. When have I ever said to you: 'Dress like a parakeet, baby, you know how I love it!'? Give me some credit, Kiyomi."

"You're just a man though and all men know are babydolls and feathers. See-through things and -"

"Ok, I know, I'm just a man. We'll talk about it later. So... you'll be in there for how long?"

"I told you! Don't make me say it again!"

"That's a long time."

"I KNOW!"

"Well I'm really... that's... ok. I'll be there soon."

"We're never having any more children. This is IT!" she shouts.

"Definitely. No more."

"Bloodsucking, poisoning -"

"I'm in complete agreement, but now that you're there, I'm sure you'll feel better."

"Yes, yes, but I'm in a paper dress that's open at the back. Hey, what about that weird man in Agriculture and that slut in -"

"I know, I just heard."

"I never liked her. What are you going to do?"

"I'll say that I'll support him."

"Ooooh. That's harsh."

"Then I'm going to sack him," I tell her, and both she and L say "yes" simultaneously. It reminds me that L's still there and that he must be pretty uncomfortable.

"Kyomi, I have to go. I need to sack someone."

"Ok, but don't be too long. Pick me up some tic tacs on your way."

I don't think that I have a reply for that, so I end the call. L takes the opportunity to turn around on the desk while my hands are occupied, but I'm still kind of dumb from divine providence.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"The best thing. Kiyomi has to stay in hospital until the baby's born."

"That's fantastic! Hold on, why? What's wrong with her?"

"Her blood's fucked up and her heart and her kidneys," I explain. "I don't know. I don't care! You have to think of a reason why you have to stay in Tokyo."

"Why?"

"So you can stay with me, you idiot."

"But I can't."

"Er... Why?"

"I just can't, Light."

"We're going to make the most of this situation. We're going to be Kiyomi and Stephen-free and you're going to finish things with Stephen tonight. You have to. My God, I'll be able to work in any room I want without her getting in the way! I can have dinner at seven instead of eight!"

"I was going to wait until..."

"Until I divorced Kiyomi?" I ask, turning on him. "Because you don't think that I will."

"It's not that. It'll look better to the press if I wait. It'll look more honest if it happens at around the same time."

"No one believes that. When people do that, everyone knows that they've been fucking all the hours of the day. It doesn't look honest at all. It'll look like you've been stringing him along, which is what you are doing."

"There's a protocol for these things and that's it. Fuck away, but be quiet about it, then leave the people you're supposed to be with and pretend that you didn't do anything. It all happened after the fact."

"Just get rid of him. It's easy. Say: 'It's not working out. Sorry. Let me help you pack your bags.' But first, ask him about the CIA."

"You don't have a clue, do you?"

"I've dumped a lot of people. It's better when you're blunt." Yes, I am wise. "If you act sad and unsure, they think they can change your mind and then they start shouting. Do the separation thing first if you want to, so he has some time to get used to it, but get him out of the house."

"I do know how to split up with someone, Light."

"You don't want to then."

"That's not it."

"You can't have it both ways. _I'm_ not going to put up with it. If our places were reversed, I would have had him out on the streets months ago. I wouldn't have had him in the first place, but you were obviously desperate. Ask him about Wedy, then call the airline."

"I can't do that."

"Yes you can. L, tell me that you'll do it. Are you frightened of him?"

"Of Stephen? No!" he laughs, and sits upright.

"Then do it. Do you want me to be there?"

"I don't know how B's going to react," he admits. Oh, the truth of it. I'll have to metaphorically hold his hand all the way through this. I zip my trousers back up, which reminds him about his belt, so he starts putting himself into order again too. "Can't it wait until he's gone?"

"No. Stephen's with Kiyomi now. When I see him, I'll ask if I can go to yours afterwards."

"Yes," he agrees, looking relieved. Honestly. "Tell him that I asked you to come over so you'll have some company at this... worrying time."

"And it's quicker for me to get the hospital from yours."

"But that's not true and he knows it. Don't say that. Come over, drink too much, you're very tired, you'll have to stay."

"Ok."

"Right. Well, I need to do that statement about Kiyomi. What time will you leave the hospital?"

"This afternoon. Or when her mother arrives," I sulk, throwing myself back into my chair.

"I'll release a statement at four. Leave before then. Before the press get there."

"Do you want me to write something?"

"No. A one line statement is best for now. We'll say more in a few days. She's stable, isn't she?"

"She sounded very _un_stable but it was mostly because of the hospital nightdress. Apparently she's ok now. When I left, the doctor said that she was ok."

"No cause for concern, just a precaution blah blah, yes. And what about Agriculture? "

"While not -"

"Hold on, I'll write it down like one of your bitching secretaries," he says, pulling a notebook out of his jacket pocket. Pen poised. "Ok, go."

"While not finding it appropriate to discuss his personal life, it appears to have no relevance to his ministerial position and the Prime Minister pledges his support to Aihara at this difficult time."

"Oh dear. No need to read between the lines there."

"And I won't be speaking to him today. He can wait until tomorrow."

"There's something to look forward to."

"But you can set some rumours off in the House, if you want. Worry him. You can do that now, actually. I have a sick bed to sit next to."

"I'll try to get home around five."

"I'll bring a toothbrush."

"There's no need to look so fucking smug about this, Light," he says moodily, slides off the desk and grabs his paper and briefcase. "Say hello to your wife and gremlin for me," he shouts back at me before he closes the door. Maybe I shouldn't wear a tie?


	20. God Bless My Socially Retarded Friends

**Chapter Nineteen**

**God Bless My Socially Retarded Friends**

* * *

When I get to the hospital, as I'd suspected, Stephen's sitting on a chair next to Kiyomi's bed. He's holding a basket of fruit and other pointless shit. It's a gift for Kiyomi from the Cabinet Office; I recognise their inoffensive blandness. 'Sorry you're ill. We don't actually care but we're supposed to since you're the Prime Minister's wife, so here, have a basket.'

The room falls silent when I walk in. The door closes slowly and noisily behind me like I'm a stranger who's just walked in a saloon in the bad part of town. I feel nothing but some kind of criminal intent and complete indifference to both of them. I ignore Stephen for the most part, and Kiyomi too for that matter, only troubling myself to give her a bag which holds the contents of an emptied drawer of miscellaneous silky things which a sick person shouldn't wear but she will. I kiss her cheek which she offers to me along with news of how she's feeling today. She's feeling better. A monitor next to her beeps with the steady thump of her heart, and I have no choice but to stand by the window to serve my time here until I can leave, having done my duty. Kiyomi keeps talking. For some reason, she feels the need to tell me all about how the machines and nurses are keeping her awake. Stephen must really have nothing to do if the best way he can think to fill his unending expanse of free time is to spend it with Kiyomi. He makes agreeable noises as she talks and I watch tiny cars on the road arteries below. It's quite an interesting view. Everything looks fake in it's miniaturised state, like an enthusiast's train set. I'm surprised that the window opens, because it too looks fake, and I light a cigarette. As I do, the talking stops, and I'm reminded that I'm acting inappropriately, but it's done now. I find what's inappropriate now has changed. I'm allowed to do things which others can't do without receiving a smack in the face.

A nurse comes in to check if Kiyomi has died, but she hasn't and the nurse looks visibly disappointed. She doesn't comment on my rule breaking either, so that's proof that the civilised world has laws for the masses and laws for me. I ask her for today's papers, which she brings quickly, bowing like she has a spinal problem which won't allow her to stand straight. Then I spend an hour reading the papers from cover to cover. Aihara is all over them, of course, but my improved mood prevents me from being upset by anything more than the post-fuck yellow bomber jacket he's been photographed wearing. Kiyomi asks me to move my chair closer to her, but I tell her truthfully that I can't stand the smell in this place. I must sit by an open window or I will be overwhelmed and might faint, and her heart monitor will give me a headache. She's very lucky that I'm here at all.

Watari calls me and I take the call in the room. Then L calls me and I take the call outside. I'm aware that I'm breaking every rule of how a concerned husband should act in this situation and I'm shocked at myself, I really am. I think that perhaps my tired, frustrated aggression which I would have taken out on L if Kiyomi hadn't interrupted, or Aihara in a completely different way, is causing me to dare someone to highlight my behaviour. No one does, and with every second that passes, I feel more entitled. In total, I spend about an hour and a half in the room, which I think is more than enough time served, so I end my visit by telling Stephen L's message that I'll be coming over tonight, so he'd better get the hoover out. He nods and doesn't look too pleased. Maybe he should spend less time bitching and more time learning how to cook?

In my whole time here, the only interesting thing to happen is that Kiyomi asked Stephen how L was, and she was very clearly expecting him to break down into tears. He said that he didn't know how he was, but I suspect that he'll have more to say after I leave. I want to point out how B, his guest by association, has been presumably left unattended while he sits here holding a basket full of grapes and tissue paper, and I would point it out if I gave enough of a shit. He mentioned how he's thinking of getting a puppy. I snorted into my _Yomiuri Shimbun_ broadsheet but it drew no comment. I have a prepared list of things to say to Stephen if he says one critical thing against me, but he doesn't, so I must scatter my annoyance elsewhere. I reenact my hello/goodbye kiss on Kiyomi's cheek immediately after she tells me that her mother is coming over on the train to visit her shortly. Today would be a wonderful day for a disaster on the rail network. It is now one o'clock.

Back at my office, Aihara is crumpled outside, reeking of a dismantled life, anxiety and stale sweat. I could sack him now, but L would be very disappointed in me that I didn't wait for him. I also think that Aihara needs a weekend of further insecurity before he learns his fate. I tell him that I'll try to find some time this afternoon if he wants to wait around until then. Instead of asking for a fixed appointment on another day instead so he could, I don't know, work instead of making my waiting room look untidy, he thanks me voraciously and sits back down to ponder his useless existence while I alphabetise my bookshelves and remove dead people from my email contacts.

At three, I write a draft of a press statement about Kiyomi for L to toss out on Monday. That takes me five minutes. I am then completely at a loss for things to do, so I have a shower and change my suit. I received a suit as a gift from a very wealthy businessman in exchange for influence, and this is a good moment to inspect it. Accompanying the suit were two envelopes. One held a large cheque made out for the party and the other held a large doorstop-sized wedge of cash for me, which I will find some way to launder. There was also a letter which I spent a long time laughing at. It said, among other things: 'I feel that, given my accumulated experience and deep sense of public service, as well as being able to devote the time to undertake the responsibility effectively, I would be able to make a contribution to the parliamentary process.' No, but I will take your suit and money.

The suit is a martini fit and I'm not convinced that it's right for me, but when I try it on, I'm assured that it is. It's a fitted drop seven jacket in a wool and silk black pinstripe, partially interfaced with animal hair beyond the first button, has a 2¼″ lapel – thank God, because if it was any wider then I'd look like a gangster – slightly saddle shoulders, four working buttonholes at the cuffs, embellished with edge stitching on the collar, lapel, pocket flap, on the opening of the welt on the pocket and on the opening of the cuff; silver piping on the placket with hand stitching between the placket seam and the lining, three inside pockets including a chequebook holder and triangle tab fastening with buttonhole and button, and a small left pocket constructed in the lower part of the lining. I think I'm pleased with it, so I remove the tacking on the shoulders and the cross stitch on the centre back vent. It's mine now.

I try to doze on my lounger but I can't. Caffeine and impatience won't allow me to, so I speak to the chief of my security to tell him that I'm staying with some friends tonight. Yes, tonight, possibly tomorrow and possibly until the end of time. He questions me about who and where and how long for, all of which I gloss over by talking about Kiyomi being at death's door in an expensive hospital. He sounds very understanding but I don't need his understanding; I just want him and his lackeys to leave me alone until I need them. I need to be looked after by caring friends and to watch my Head of PR sack the CIA so we can fuck instead, unimpeded. He says that it must be very stressful for Kiyomi and myself. I hum sadly in reply, but after the call is over, I think about how untrue it is. It should be very stressful, yes, but it's not; I've been ecstatic since I heard. I feel angry at Kiyomi for latching onto my life. I feel like I've been forced into marrying her, even though I know that's not the case. It was my idea, I set the ball rolling and lay back and let it happen and I turned up on the day and played my part but now I feel so resentful of her. I'm glad that she's in hospital because I'm effectively free again now, however temporarily. I would spend every spare moment available to me following L around. I think of the things he's said that are full of promise of other things he'll say and do forever. Things that I don't find interesting in the least but they stay in my head, like how he said that he's always wanted to go to Bora Bora just so he can say that he's been to Bora Bora. He'll stay in his cabin on the cruise ship because the idea of cruise ships reminds him of prisons, step onto the shores of Bora Bora just to say that he has and then go back to his cabin because the sun hurts his eyes. Grey skies are his natural climate. Grey skies, rain on the windowsill and dancing winds. I think that every second we're apart, I'm missing out on such useless gems, and maybe I'll still receive them anyway if the situation ever calls them up, but extended over a period of time instead of a more constant flow and exchange. I want his thoughts and opinions so I can ignore them or laugh to myself when I hear someone mention Bora Bora on TV. I pack a bag with a change of clothes and don't forget my dental floss and other necessities. I'm done here.

Aihara is still outside and he stands when I leave my office. Unfortunately I haven't been able to clear my diary for him, but if he could come back on Monday at 11am, I'll see him then. L will be there with a resignation letter ready for him to sign, but Aihara has no idea about this yet. My smile makes him hopeful, and he will crash like a plane with no engine on Monday morning. Now that my coast is clear of insignificance, I tell L that he's my chauffeur and I hang around his office instead until six o'clock. I couldn't possibly drive myself, I'm far too distraught. He thinks that I look like a pimp's illegitimate son.

Since L accidentally on purpose took a wrong turn on the way to his house, it's nearly eight o'clock by the time we arrive at his front door. The desperation that's kept me simultaneously exhausted and awake all day disappeared when we were on the final stretch of road to his house, because then I wanted him to drive right past the wooden shell and the cretins inside it and just keep on driving. But there's a very good reason why I'm here and I must see this out. If left to his own devices, L would probably keep playing the avoidance game, and it's very important that he not only gives Stephen his marching orders, but also finds out the extent of this Wedy situation. How can I be expected to counter this gutless attack if I don't have some idea of what's going on? Besides, I'm sure that there'll be a lot to enjoy in this.

I hold my packed bag and stand next to L as he hesitates at the door and looks at me for last minute reassurance. Inwardly, I roll my eyes at him. Outwardly, I kiss him as a prelude and a reminder, then settle back into a lip-licking smile. Fucking do it, you stupid bastard. He says that he wants to see me in his bed again. Yes, well you know what you have to put me in it; stop fucking around. But he needs some gentle encouragement and support because he can't control himself from rallying against direct orders and aggression, even from me. Especially from me. I tell him that I'd _like_ to be in his bed, which does the trick, because he sighs out an 'ok' and opens the door. As I am here, I herald Stephen's final hours and I'm surprised that there's not an ominous crack of thunder as I walk in. I smile when I see B, and drop my bag by the door while L mutters something to him, switches off the TV and heads for his bedroom, taking his jacket and tie off as he goes.

I sit at the table to await whatever comes my way, and when L returns he's changed his suit for a sad-looking v-neck t-shirt, equally sad-looking slacks and a manically depressed cardigan. He looks like he's going to a dentist's in Siberia. He skulks into the kitchen and I hear him tell Stephen that I'm here. I don't catch Stephen's comment – which I'm sure was electrifying – because B makes more noise than he has to when he sits at the table as well, only making sure that there are a few empty chairs between us. He's brought a book with him and everyone knows not to read at the table, that's basic good manners. L comes into view in the kitchen and he looks at me as he opens a cupboard. I smile, he smiles back weakly and I don't now what his fucking problem is. Then Stephen's behind him, holding what looks like a horrendous gold ornament in front of L's face.

"He's very sorry," Stephen says. Game over. Stephen's talking to inanimate objects.

"You don't need to apologise for anything and neither does that. Whatever it is," L replies.

"It's a golden rabbit. It's also chocolate. Say hello, you're made for each other."

"Why is it wearing a ribbon with a bell on it?"

"Don't question the golden rabbit. It has reasons beyond our understanding."

"Thank you for my golden rabbit," L says sadly.

"Are you staying for dinner?" B asks me. Oh, shut up. L's doing a shit job at breaking up with someone here. I might need to intervene and do it for him.

"What?" I say, still looking at L, Stephen and the golden rabbit while I try to catch their conversation. "Yes. Yes, I'm staying for dinner."

"You invited yourself then?"

"No, L invited me. Would you mind not speaking to me? I'm tired."

"Oh, yeah. I heard that your wife's in hospital. Did you put her there?"

"Not intentionally."

"Was work ok?" Stephen asks L, who's now facing him and tearing up the golden rabbit. "Do you know if the Prime Minister has eaten? Because I don't know if I've got enough and it's not Prime Minister food, y'know? I made cheeseburgers. Does he eat cheeseburgers? I'd like to see him eat a cheeseburger. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. He can have my cheeseburger. I'd also like to see him eat one but I think that might be the world's reboot button."

"He can have mine. That's something worth seeing, so I'm willing to starve for that. Can I eat the golden rabbit's ears?" There's a brutal snap as the rabbit is torn apart. L is doing such a terrible job at this.

"Why would he invite you," B interrupts me again even though he must see that I'm busy. "Don't you have servants to feed you and cater for your every whim?"

"They're employed and well paid by the state," I rush out in reply. He says something caustic but I try to drown him out because Stephen's gone mad again in the kitchen.

"What, what, what, what?"

"What?" L asks him.

"I asked _you_ that. You're doing that sad thing you do when you want to ask me something but you won't, so you just do that sad smile thing instead."

"I don't do a sad smile. If I wanted to ask you something I'd just bloody well ask you, Stephen." That's better.

"Okaaaay," Stephen sounds out, turning away from him.

"Are you still working for the CIA?" Oh, thank God for that. I wish that he'd waited until they'd brought my food in first, even if it is a cheeseburger, but I can wait.

"Huh?" Stephen says, turning back to him in shock. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Are you?"

"Er, no. I left. You were there when I emailed them my resignation."

"I know, it's just... you're out a lot."

"Am I supposed to stay in the house? _You're_ out a lot."

"Yeah, but I have a job," L tells him. "Two jobs. You don't have one, which I'm not saying is bad so don't look like that, but you're not in your boat because it's in dry dock in my garage, and my car's outside getting rained on when really your boat should be outside getting rained on because it's meant to get wet anyway."

"You're asking me what I do all day?" Stephen asks, crossing his arms.

"No. Don't say it like that. I'm not some 'what do you do all day, I work so hard and all you do is watch TV and spend my money, where's my dinner?' person."

"I have my own money. You haven't paid for anything around here for months. And there's your dinner," he says, pointing to something out of sight which I can only guess is a cheeseburger. L loses his stride when confronted with it.

"I... agh. I didn't mean that. I meant -"

"Because you'd fucking starve if I didn't feed you."

"I know that's a strong possibility but -"

"And I don't spend your money. Do you want me to pay rent?"

"No, I don't want you to pay rent."

"Because I can. I paid the electricity and the water bill for the last two quarters, but I didn't say anything and you didn't notice," Stephen says, puffing up with indignation.

"They're direct debit, aren't they?" L asks. Fucking hell, why doesn't he get to the point? I don't care about his water bills. I care about Wedy.

"You haven't set them up," Stephen tells him.

"Oh. Well, thanks for that, but you should have left them, they're my bills. Are you opening my letters?"

"They had 'final demand' stamped on the envelopes and they were on your desk for a two weeks and you didn't open them, so yeah, because I wanted to do something nice. Someone had to pay them. I don't go around opening your letters!"

"I... Look, I'm sorry. I know you don't open my letters and it _was_ nice of you to pay the bills. You're great in every way. I'm sorry," L mumbles. I can barely hear him. I really don't understand how he's ballsing this up. He's a lawyer, so he has a head start there, and I'd feel sorry for him but he's done far worse things to far better people than Stephen without cause and without batting an eyelid. Stephen's not great in any way, so that's just an outright lie.

"Yeah. Whatever you say," Stephen blusters out. "Since when have you not trusted me?"

"I do trust you."

"I thought we shared bills."

"You've only been here a few months."

"So?"

"Well -"

"We're adults, aren't we? Adults share bills."

"How can you pay though, Stephen? I mean, what kind of savings do you actually have?"

"Do you want to see my online statement?"

"I just don't know what you do when I'm not here and... God, that sounds bad."

"Yeah, it does," Stephen says angrily and takes on the body language of the unfairly injured. "Ok. When you leave, the world just stops. I go into standby until you come back and then I make your dinner, you fucking caveman." Ha. At least he's not a doormat though, eh, you enormous smear of wank. L's not offended like I expect him to be, he shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck instead. He's letting me down very badly here really.

"Stephen -"

"No! I walk, read and, yes, I watch TV. I'm also fixing your patio because it's rotting underneath, but you didn't notice that either."

"Wait, the patio's rotting?" L asks. Fuck the patio!

"Yeah. One day one of us would have fallen through it."

"That never showed up on the survey! I've been fucking had!"

"Yep."

"But... it's just this Wedy thing. Do you know anything about it?"

"Wedy? Not since I left, no. Why would I? They wouldn't tell me anything."

"Your friends are dragging politicians in for questioning left right and centre."

"Not my friends. Sounds more like the FBI," Stephen shrugs. "They do things like that and blow cover and have friendly chats with people. They're dickheads."

"The FBI are here as well?!" L asks in surprise. I'm surprised too. How have all these fucking people managed to get into my country without anyone thinking that maybe I should know?

"Probably. They usually make themselves known. So? Why do you care?"

"It's my job."

"It's your job to care? What are you, the mother hen to politicians?"

"I have to cover it up. It's not very easy for me when they're pulling people out of their houses, bundling them into black cars and scaring them to death. Really. This useless old codger was called in, saw that the NPA are involved and now he's in hospital because of his angina. He's somebody's granddad, Stephen. He must be, he's old enough. And we know how you love your granddad and now it's looking like you've killed someone else's. That's your fault, that. You and your friends with your flippy badge... things. So what the fuck's going on?"

"I don't know, L. I don't know why you'd think that I'd know."

"Because you were in the CIA and you were working on this case and you said that it had wrapped up but it hasn't wrapped up."

"They must have change their minds then. Last I heard, it'd wrapped up for us. This food's getting cold," he says, and picks up a plate which L takes out of his hands and puts it on the counter next to him.

"'Us'? You _are_ still with them!"

"No, I just can't get out of the habit."

"Once a spy, always a spy? Is there an old boy's club or something? What have they found out to make them change their minds?"

"Shit, L! I don't know!"

"Why have you made L do this?" B asks me. Piss off, I'm watching this.

"Are you still working for them?" L asks Stephen.

"This is fucking insane."

"You wouldn't have had to tell me. I won't be angry. Not that angry anyway"

"I would tell you. I wouldn't have left and I did leave."

"Join again," L tells him. What?

"What?" Stephen asks. Well, yes.

"Until the investigation is closed."

"Why?"

"Because Light..."

"Light," Stephen repeats after him with some healthy dose of irritation. I don't like it when he says my name. I've never given him permission and he makes it sound ugly. "He's asked you about this, hasn't he? You want me to spy on my country, because they represent the interests of my country, for your Light?"

"He's not _my_ Light, he's my boss. God, you're so boring."

"Yeah, I'm really boring, L. You work for the government, not him."

"He's head of the government, so he _is_ my boss. I don't work for some faceless organisation."

"Like I did, you mean?"

"Well, you did."

"Yeah, I did. _Did_, L. I don't know why you give so much of a shit about your Light. What a made-up fucking name," he laughs. No it isn't!

"What's his name got to do with it?" L asks. L likes my name more than my parents do and he'll defend it to the death, though it doesn't stop him from ripping the piss out of it at every opportunity. It's also the only reason why he'll speak to my mother if they're in the same room.

"It's made up."

"It's not. It's on his birth certificate, unlike Krystal with a fucking K. It's a nice name."

"It's a nice name," Stephen parrots sarcastically. "Are you in love with him?"

Oh dear. This will end up with blood on the floor. I push my chair back from the table so I can get in there quickly if I have to. We can bury the body together. L must see me move and looks at me, I look at him, Stephen must see this mute discussion about how best to dispose of a CIA agent who knows too much, at least, that's what I thinking about, and then pulls L off out of sight. I stand up and stare at where they were standing. I should go in there and get myself out of this conversation.

"What have you done?" B says to me. "This is the fucking problem when there's a house full of gays. You're one too many! Queens and bisexuals are the worst fucking things to have in the house."

"Fuck off," I whisper, not really paying attention. "Go and see what's going on in there."

"No, let them talk, you nosy bastard."

"Are you?" I hear Stephen say. "You must be."

"Don't be stupid. Light's -"

"He's the Prime Minister, he's not Light. He shouldn't be anyway, not to you."

"I've known him for nearly five years, Stephen."

"So you've been in love with him for a long time then."

"I'm not... Where has this come from?" L asks, suddenly sounding very angry, which makes me feel better, so I sit down again. We'll bury him another day. "I've got to hand it to you, you're very good at deflecting and turning the tables with something completely random. This isn't about him, this is you trying to dodge my question, and if it's a stupid question then fine, but don't start accusing me of ridiculous things."

"But he's all you talk about. Light did this and Light did that and Light said this and Light said that and now Light's sitting out there and he's going to eat my cheeseburger! You said that -"

"What I said wasn't true, I told you. I was angry with him, so I made shit up. Stephen, you know I made him, and if the press find out about this Wedy thing and go mad then he might not see it out."

"So you didn't have an affair?"

"No."

"I don't believe you. I mean, I didn't believe you when you said that he was homophobic, because he obviously thinks you're great. He's here all the time, or he's working in that house and you're over there, or you're on the phone to him."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration, Stephen. Can't I be friends with someone without you thinking that something else is going on? You're the same about B."

"It's obvious that there's nothing between you and B."

"Hey!" B says loudly, causing me to look at him for a second. He's sitting in a chair next to me now, both of us looking towards the kitchen and the voices that come from it, unseen, but with different levels of concern. He's sorting M&Ms out of a bowl on the table into rows of colour in front of him. "Actually, I'll forgive him for that."

"And of course you can be friends with whoever you want," Stephen continues. "But you must be following him around when you're at work too because that's all I hear about your day, so the one thing I believed is that you had an affair."

"We didn't have an affair, don't be so fucking dramatic."

"Are these work meetings in the city or are they dinner dates with him?" Stephen asks. Shit, fuck, fuck.

"He's got a point there. The worm turns," B comments.

"What?" L nearly shouts. The truth nearly always makes him angry. I think he's ok now.

"Kiyomi said," Stephen says. Kiyomi, why can't you ever shut up? "He's been out a lot more over the last few months, and now that she's in hospital, he's probably out all the time. Like you're out a lot more than you used to be. You're doing a lot of late nights in the office, and when you're not, you're texting someone or other and I think it's him, unless you're seeing someone else I don't know about."

"I text loads of people!"

"Like who? Who are your friends?"

"B."

"So you text B when he's in the same house as you?"

"No, I text Mihael sometimes. Miscellaneous people. I have friends! I don't even know Light's number because he has to change it all the time. Ask him."

"I don't need to."

"How am I supposed to defend myself if you won't listen to my witness statements? You're challenging the validity of my evidence? I demand an independent body to sit in and listen to _all_ the evidence, not just these stupid ideas you've made up. It's all hearsay anyway and that's not admissible in this case. I'm sorry, but this is very unfair and an abuse of process argument and it'll lead to a judicial review."

"L, we're not in court. This is me and you and we're having an argument. Forget about the texts then, maybe you just really like Twitter or something, but you're always at work or he's not far away and you can't deny it."

"It's overtime and he's not here that much. This is the first time he's come here on his own and when he's in the boathouse, he's working."

"On the book."

"On the book," L says. Yes, on the book. L's just proofreading it. I haven't written anything yet but that's entirely beside the point.

"What's he writing about?" Stephen asks.

"I don't know, you'd have to ask him," L suggests. God, I don't know what I'm writing about!

"Are you actually telling me that you haven't asked him what he's writing about even though you spent ten minutes talking about scented candles the other week?"

"I would think that it's classified and private business, Stephen, I'm not one to pry. I'm really sorry that his conversation isn't literary and thought-provoking enough for you right now, but his wife hasn't been very well. Give him a break. If he wants to unwind and talk about scented candles then he can talk about scented fucking candles."

"Kiyomi thinks he's away from her a lot because of the baby but it's not, is it? Maybe it is, but it's more because of you."

"Now you're just being stupid. Even more stupid."

"If you were a friend to him, you'd be telling him to go back and see his wife and talk to her about scented candles, but you're inviting him over here without talking to me about it or letting me know."

"You weren't talking to me and I honestly thought that you wouldn't mind. I've never said anything when you bring your old CIA friends over."

"No, you just go to bed."

"Because they're boring."

"And scented candles aren't boring?"

"Light's my friend. I haven't got that many."

"You've got B here and you've completely ignored him."

"I haven't 'completely ignored him'."

"Like you've completely ignored me, only you've ignored me a while now."

"I'm so sorry, Stephen. What was I thinking putting myself before your conjugal rights, which you don't have, by the way, and I'll explain why. Firstly, we're not married, so constructive abandonment wouldn't fly and no court would listen to you anyway; they'd sympathise with me because you're such an idiot. Secondly, how very 1901 of you, and thirdly, fuck you!"

"It's not about that. I'm worried about _you._"

"That's what you say but we both know what you're worried about."

"This is your fault," B tells me. Yes, and fuck you too.

"That's so unfair!" Stephen shouts. I sense the end. I might as well go and unpack now. "I came back from the US and you were like this. You weren't like this before. Is it because I asked you to meet my family?" he asks. Well, it wouldn't have helped.

"No. Why does there have to be a reason? I just don't feel like it, that's all there is to it."

"It's not my fault that they asked you questions."

"Yes, I found out that interrogation runs in the family."

"What have I done to fuck you off?"

"I don't know, Stephen."

"This isn't working."

"No, it's not."

"Well? What do we do to fix it? Or are you just not interested at all?"

"I really don't know. How to fix it, I mean," L mumbles. No, L. Blunt, punchy, not working, bye.

"Are you saying that we can't? L."

"Why should I have all the answers? If you're not happy and I'm not happy then I don't know what to do about it."

"There are too many people around. When it was just us, we were fine. We were more than fine. I put up with a lot of shit from you."

"I do with you! You're always doing that Black Ops thing or polishing your fucking boat or saying: 'Hey, let's go for a walk in the mountains!" No, Stephen. I'm not climbing up any mountain. Do I look like a person who climbs up mountains?"

"Maybe you should."

"Was that a dig?"

"Just saying that you're losing weight again."

"I have an aristocratic build."

"I thought that aristocrats were fat."

"Not unless they drink port. When they don't, they look like me only they wear wigs sometimes."

"Ok then, but I still went away and you weren't even talking to him before if you could avoid it. I come back and you do anything to avoid me but you're all friendly with him. What the fuck? You were totally different. I'm your partner."

"I've always been friendly with him. Mostly. He's my friend."

"What kind of friend?"

"Can we talk about this some other time? Like never? He's right outside and so is B and I don't really want to air our dirty laundry in public like this."

"Are you having an affair? I'll ask him, I don't care. Who he is doesn't impress me at all."

"Which is why you only refer to him by his job title. No, we're not having an affair, or if we are then I haven't noticed and I'm sure that it'd be news to him. I love that you think that you're so great that if I don't fawn all over you, your conclusion is that I must be having an affair with anyone I'm on fairly good terms with."

"L, I could find this out and it wouldn't take me very long."

There's silence then and it seems to string out for a long time. I turn to B to see if he looks worried, but he just smiles up at me smugly, so I swirl my fingers through his carefully constructed lines of M&Ms.

"Find it," L says.

"You're daring me to find proof?" Stephen asks, clearly surprised.

"Yes. Find proof."

And there's another long pause before Stephen answers with the words I've longed to hear since that night on the bar boat restaurant thing.

"I think I should leave."

"Maybe that's a good idea."

"I'll get a flight back tomorrow."

Oh! This gets better! I look at B to see his reaction, and he appears to be very shocked, so now it's my turn to look smug. His lips twist into a thin line and he throws a sweet at my face. I blink as it hits my cheek, then carry on smiling at him. You're next.

"You can't leave the country," L blurts out. What? Why not? "All your stuff is here and -"

"My stuff. So, it's not about me, it's the logistics of me moving out that's the problem?"

"No! Look -"

"You're in a bad fucking way, man," Stephen tells him. He appears in the doorway of the kitchen and holds onto the door frame. His arm squares off L's face into a perfect portrait. I want to take a photo of it. "About my stuff and me, if you give a shit, I'll get a room in town tonight and if you want to talk tomorrow then we'll talk tomorrow. If you don't, then I guess that I'll hire a moving van."

"We'll talk now," L says

"But the Prime Minister's come all this way to see you. To see you, L."

"He came with me..." L corrects him for no fucking reason and then looks stupidly guilty, which only makes Stephen's back stiffen with anger. If any wicked whispers start circulating, I'll know who to gun for.

"Yeah, of course he did," Stephen nods. "I might be crazy, but I think being Prime Minister must be a really busy job. You'd think he'd want to spend any time he does have with his wife, but he comes on a two hour round trip with his PR man for drinks and cheeseburgers? You haven't even mentioned anything about work."

"He's finding this pregnancy thing difficult."

"Oh, never mind the violin, let's get a whole string fucking quartet. I'm sure that it's more difficult for Kiyomi," he says, walking back inside the kitchen and out of sight again. L's eyes follow him but he doesn't move apart from that. Oh, Kiyomi, Kiyomi, his heart bleeds for Kiyomi. Why doesn't he care that I can obviously hear him? Why can't they just break up without bringing me into it?

"Stephen, do you have no understanding?" L asks him.

"No. I'm thoughtless in thinking that Kiyomi's the one who's finding this difficult when it's actually him who's finding this difficult and inconvenient. The only person you have understanding for is _him_, to the point of condoning his shit behaviour. He needs to go back to his wife and look after her and listen to her moan about her legs aching and her back aching and having something kick her in the bladder all the time."

"He was with her today and all last night. He hasn't slept at all. Look at him, he's knackered."

"Big fucking deal. He should be. He came in while I was there and he didn't even say much to her. Didn't ask how she was. He had a cigarette and sat there and read the papers in his suit and took phone calls and yes, he looked incredible, despite being knackered, I'm sure you noticed. What is with his attitude? He thinks he's God's gift but he's a politician! And what the fuck does 'knackered' mean anyway? You use words that don't make any sense and sound like they're out of some World War One cookery book."

"It means that he looks tired, not incredible."

"Ha! Well, you'd know better than me."

"Your attitude is fucking appalling."

"Yours is worse. That ex you mentioned, the one that treated you mean and kept you keen. It's him isn't it?"

"What?!" L asks. I'm very confused by this. Why L would make any reference to me to Stephen of all people? Why would he speak about me in the past tense? And why would he say that I treated him mean and kept him keen? I just kept him keen, but I was hardly ever mean. Not much. And it doesn't matter anyway because I'm really nice to him now nearly all the time, but still...

"From what you told me, it'd sync with you going to London and him marrying Kiyomi," Stephen the Intelligence knob of the decade decides. He might be right, but he's still a knob.

"Bollocks. When did I give you a timeframe about my exes anyway?"

"Third date. We were talking about exes. Do you remember mine? The one I knocked out when he stole my iPod."

"His name was...Nick."

"Close. It was Tom. I knew that you weren't listening."

"Why should I care about your exes!?"

"Just general interest in other people when they're trying to talk to you, L."

"I don't even know Tom. He's not my ex. Why are you interested my mine?"

"You can't understand. Name one of his exes."

"Whose?"

"His. Him in there."

"Erm..."

"Come on. I know that you know one."

"Misa Amane," L answers. Correct! Oh, hold on, maybe he shouldn't have answered correctly.

"Oh! So you do know one of his. You were interested enough in that."

"She was slightly famous, that's the only reason. If your Tom was Tom Selleck then I would have remembered him too."

"No, you're interested in him and I don't know why. I don't know why he's your friend. You don't have anything in common apart from you both having a shit sense of humour and you like laughing at people. You're both mean."

"He's not mean," L says sulkily. No, I'm not mean. I'm controlled, you prosaic fucking arsehole.

"He is. When he turned up at the hospital he looked like he'd rather be somewhere else and all he said was that you'd invited him over to ours tonight. Then he took a phone call and you're not supposed to take phone calls in hospitals, not when your wife is hooked up to a heart monitor, but then he was smoking as well so there you go. He had to be reminded to kiss her goodbye."

"Oh, I'm sure that you were the one to remind him. You're like some insane marriage counsellor. I don't think he would have expected you to be there, Stephen. You're always interfering in other people's business and people don't like that."

"She wanted me there. He doesn't spend any time with her because he's here with you, and you encourage it and you want him to be here. I have to listen to her moan about everything, and it's not me she wants to moan to, it's him."

"I'm sure he listens to her. She's very moany and you're easy to moan at. Just think, he must get that all the time, which is something we have in common," he says. Stephen laughs sourly but then he's quiet for a few moments. I wish that I could see what's going on.

"I knew that you were... I mean, I didn't expect us to be practically married. It was just handy for you to have me in your house. I didn't annoy you much and I cooked and everything, but now I suppose I'm in the way, yeah? You were different before. L, you know that I really... But you're not the same. You don't love me the same. If I thought that you talked about me the way you talk about him, I'd be really fucking happy, you know? But I don't think you do. And I feel sorry for you."

And Stephen goes. He doesn't stop in the doorway, he grabs his coat and he disappears down the hallway. For some reason L rushes after him.

"Stephen, stop. This isn't fair. I'll go," he says. No! Why should you go? This is your house and I'm in it and I'm staying! I suppose that he could come back with me to the Kantei. B's definitely not invited though.

"Yeah, take the Prime Minister with you. Go together. Get a hotel. No, I need to get out of here. Maybe I have been in this house too long. I'll call you tomorrow if you want to talk."

The door opens and closes and rattles. A car engine roars and gets further and further away until it's gone. He's gone. I could be happier since I didn't expect to feature so strongly in that finale, but it's easier for thrown away people to blame a third party. He'll go off and met some nice mild mannered and boring little nobody and the only thing he'll have left of L is the boat he bought him. I'll let him keep it as a memory of a man who wasted his time with him for a few months. I wonder if you can heat up cheeseburgers. Is that safe?

I turn around and lay my hands flat on the table, and it's only then that I realise that B's gone too. Back on his broomstick. L still hasn't come back inside, so I go to find him and ask him about how to reheat cheeseburgers. The last thing I want is to get botulism from Stephen's last dish of the day. L's leaning against the wall by the door, so I lean on the wall opposite him. He looks up at me while he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You heard that?" he asks.

"He wasn't quiet about it, was he? I guess that we can presume that he's not in the CIA then."

"You really thought he was too?"

"Yeah. Like they wouldn't want to exploit his situation."

"Are you happy then?" he says with a slack face, blinking slowly. "He's done nothing wrong and he's given up a lot for me and now he's staying in a hotel room. The hotels in town are shit."

"It's not my fault."

"No, it's my fault."

"You know I hate him, but that's because of you. If he was my friend, I'd say that he deserved better. Because what he said was true."

"Maybe _I_ deserve better. Maybe I deserve him."

"But you're not happy with him, L. You like him. I'm sure he's likeable in a boring way and I'm never going to pick up your used tissues when you have a cold because you can fucking do that yourself, but you're not happy with him."

"You're not going to be here all the time though. I hate this house."

"Move to Tokyo then," I say.

"No."He smacks the back of his head against the wall not all that gently before he stares at the ceiling. I hope this guilt trip doesn't last too long. I shift across to stand beside him and look at the same shadowed wall above our heads.

"You know when I'd go to your old place when you weren't expecting me, and you'd have the TV on with the sound down low in the other room? Not so you could hear the words, but the voices? And when I turned up, you'd switch it off. I know why you did that."

"I didn't think you'd understand," he says, turning to me.

"I understand you."

"I'm too old for this self-pity."

"Well, you're too young for that cardigan. What the fuck is your excuse for that cardigan, L? A cardigan. A brown one."

"It's cold," he smiles.

"Is that supposed to be an excuse?"

"Fine, I'll take it off."

"You better had. So, are you going to feed me or what?"

"Light, do you mind? I've just split up with my boyfriend manfriend partner person. There's food in there. Feed yourself. Where's B?"

"I don't know. He lined some M&Ms up in rows on the table and then he disappeared. You tell me if that's normal behaviour for a psychologist."

"He's gone to bed? Shit. I better talk to him."

"Tell him that Daddy and Daddy might not love each other anymore but it's not his fault and it doesn't mean that you love him any less."

"Fuck off, Light, you wanker."

"Have fun," I say as he starts to walk past me, but he stops and more or less falls against me, hooking his arms under mine so his hands use my shoulders as an anchor he can hold himself up on. His head rests next to mine, his hair presses against mine, and this is normally the point where I leave, but I'm not leaving. That makes me happier than I have been for a long time. And to think that I used to leave in the middle of the night just to get away from him. The back of his head fits so perfectly into my hand. Maybe anyone's would, but his feels like it was made for me.

"Thank you. It's almost like the old days," I whisper.

"Apart from your pregnant wife."

"And your mad best friend."

"I can't talk to anyone but you. I can't talk to B."

"Maybe leave it until tomorrow?"

"That's very tempting," he says, leaning even more heavily on me.

"Hey, stop lolling on me, will you?" I ask. He takes a step back and looks like standing up unaided is a very tiring process. I reach into my pocket, put two cigarettes into my mouth and light them so the heady hit is nearly overwhelming for a second. He parts his lips so I can put one of them in his mouth. "Feed me."

"Jesus Christ, you're useless," he laughs. There are things in the kitchen. Eat that."

"But it's cold. I don't know if it's safe to reheat meat."

"You should have asked Stephen before he left," he says bitterly. I can't actually be sorry. He's such a melodramatic whore.

And he's gone for while. The house is silent apart from an owl hooting hysterically outside, furious that nothing's hooting back, and I'd be very happy like to shoot it. I decide to eat the bready part of the cheeseburger and the salad even though I'm worried about bloating. Bread is evil but I'm pretty desperate, and I'm eating it at the kitchen table when I hear running and pounding down the stairs. I struggle to swallow the claggy mess when L appears, breathless in the doorway.

"Light, you have to run. B wants to talk to you. Please go. I'll sacrifice myself for you."

"He's not going to kill you, is he?"

"I don't think so but you never know. Light, I haven't updated my will and I wanted to be cremated but after how we acted with Jeevas, I'm not so sure anymore -"

He breaks off and turns away from me, horrified by whatever he sees. There's little time for him or me to do anything before he's pulled out of sight by a white hand. I stand up and think that maybe I'm having one of those waking dreams again, but B marches in, shutting and locking the door just as L is about to rush in after him. His eyes are manic. He looks at me coldly for a second and all I can hear is my own blood thundering through my heart in time with L's pounding on the door as B almost runs at me. I'm going to die here. I don't want to die.

"You made him do this you made him kick Stephen out and you are not going to fuck this up don't fuck this up and don't fuck _him_ up because he's fucked up enough as it is," he hisses at me. I back away until I hit the edge of the sink and can't go any further. He only stops when he's pressing his chest against me and is directly in front of my face so I can't see anything else but his eyes.

"I wasn't going to!" I say, quiet with fear. His face breaks and mutates as he speaks, like every nerve of it is in spasm.

"He likes you. I don't know why. I mean, you're very pretty, but apart from that I don't know why. There must be some reason. But you have to be _serious_."

"I am."

"How serious?"

"Very."

"How can you be very serious? You're married and she's having a baby and you're the Prime Minister of Japan and you're having an affair with a male lawyer barrister fuck knows what he does but he's also your Head of PR and he has mental health problems. Doesn't that make being very serious a bit complicated?"

"Ah -"

"I only like one person. One person in the whole world and it's him. So you better be very fucking serious."

"I am," I tell him. God, even if I wasn't, I'd tell him that I was. He calms instantly and takes a well needed step back. I breathe. L's still shouting and it sounds like he's hitting the door with a piano, but I don't think he can help me. I'm trapped in here with this man and I'm going to die.

"You see that pot?" he asks, pointing at a huge pan on the hob. "If you're not serious, I'll put your head in it. It might not even be still attached to your body."

"B!" L screams.

"Don't worry," B assures me. "He has a very weak left shoulder which makes it nearly impossible for him to break down a door."

"Could you let me out, please?"

"No." He reaches into his trouser pocket and it's a knife! It's a knife! No, it's a... black box?! He turns it around in his hand and presses a red button on top. Is that a dictaphone? "Discuss your relationship with Mr Lawliet and speak clearly into the mic," he says, holding the machine in front of my mouth.

"Fuck off!" I shout, pushing his hand away.

"Don't you speak to me like that I like aggression in people it shows that they're alive but there's a level of respect that you should have when speaking to me because I'm a psychologist and a very good one and I'm going analyse you until there's nothing left but quivering bones and tendons do you understand me I don't think you can because in my professional opinion you're as intelligent as a spade and you're a malignant narcissist the cause of which I think stems from early childhood probably potty training combined with genetic neuroticism but why don't you pick on someone else that's what I ask myself so for the good of his health I'll eradicate the problem and that's you so -"

"Woah! Don't try that shit with me."

"Ok," he says slowly, sustaining the word. "If you're not serious and you fuck this up and fuck him up then I'm going to find you, and by the time I've finished with you, you'll be chewing your own cock off. Do you understand what I'm saying, or should I write it down for you?"

"I understand."

"I'm not joking."

"I know."

"You might think that you've got everything all hunky dory but you haven't. What do you think L would say if you beat me up?"

"I'm not going to!"

"You say that but we're in here and he's out there and who's to say that you haven't beaten me up because, you know what I'll do? I'll do this."

He throws himself backwards against the table, knocking over chairs which scrape against slate like fingernails against a blackboard, then he throws himself forwards and I dart out of his way. All I can do is stand there and watch him chuck himself around the room like a pinball, smacking himself repeatedly in the face with whatever comes to hand, which at the moment is a cupboard door. I try to make a break for freedom but he grasps my wrist in an icy grip while he continues to smash his face.

"Stop it!" I shout at him as blood starts to stream from his nose.

"What's going on in there!?" L calls out hysterically. By now, I thought that he might have realised that he could get a screwdriver and take the doors off their hinges, but he's not brilliant in this kind of situation, obviously.

"He's hitting me, L!" B screams. I feel my face contort with confusion. If this is a dream, it's the weirdest one I've ever had, and that's saying something.

"What?!"

"The Prime Minister of Japan is beating me up!"

"Light?!"

"I'm not, L! He's hitting himself in the face with a cupboard door!"

"Christ, will someone just let me in, please?" he begs. I try to move but B suddenly stops beating himself up and forces me back against the wall. There's sticky blood coating his teeth, darkening in the gaps.

"Oh, no, no, no, don't you dare.".

"B, if you hurt him, I'll kill you, I swear!" L shouts.

"But he's hurting me! What about me!?" B asks, turning his face towards the door as if L's in the room with us. Then he turns back to me. "YOU!"

"Get off me you fucking lunatic!" I say, pushing his bent and twisted claw-like hands away from my neck. Again, perhaps even more frightening than anything else he's done so far, he calms abruptly, his face becoming emotionless instead of the boiling cauldron of hatred and mania which looks so natural on him.

"Stephen's a very nice man. He's the sort of man you'd take home to your mother and she'd wish he was her son instead. He fires a gun like Johnny Utah in _Point Break_. I had to wank for ten minutes after he showed me his aim. You'd take him anywhere really, just to show off. You're the sort of man you'd fuck behind a beer stall at a festival and pretend that you didn't."

"No I'm not. No one's ever done anything to me behind a beer stall."

"But they have fucked you and pretended that they didn't."

"No."

"I find that hard to believe. L's nearly forty, I know, I have no idea what to get him for his birthday, but he's fucked up and has the emotional state of a child who's been locked in a sewer for six years in Pakistan."

"I know he's fucked up," I whisper.

"Why?"

"Uh -"

"How do you know?" he asks. One of his eyes looks considerably larger than the other. One pupil is dilated and the other is normal, like one side of his face is high. "Why would he talk to you about how fucked up he is and not talk to me? Does he talk to you during sex?"

"What?"

"Does he talk to you during sex?"

"You don't expect me to answer that."

"I do or I wouldn't have asked. He wouldn't admit that he's fucked up to anyone unless his mind wasn't completely there, so either he's got some serious cognitive disease or it comes out during sex because everything comes out during sex, literally. So? Does he?"

"No."

"Liar. He never shuts up, of course he talks during sex. I know he does, I heard him once when we were twenty. We shared a flat. It was very small and the walls were thin. I'll tell you about it sometime because I'd like to get it off my chest. What does he say?"

"Nothing."

"It's very important that you tell me."

"It's none of your -"

"I don't think I made myself clear. Do you see that pot?" he says, pointing towards the now terrifying pot on the cooker.

"Alright! He says... just... shit."

"He says 'shit'? That could point to an underdeveloped ego problem. He's backward emotionally. He's obsessed with shit."

"No, he doesn't say shit, he talks shit."

"Your grasp of English is still very poor. Keep working on it, chicken. So he talks shit. What shit?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Stephen wouldn't tell me either, it's very annoying. Do you say anything?"

"What?"

"During sex?"

"No!"

"Lie. Oh my God, you're so easy it's boring. I know that he talks the question is do you talk too I think that you do I think you talk about how you're God because you're possibly the most neurotic person I've ever met it'd be a pleasure if you weren't such a fucking twat who's fucking up L's life and he supports that because he gets off on the idea of fucking God, who wouldn't? And you get off on being told that you're God I'm sure it's very nice for you both is that the only reason that you like each other because I'm sure I don't need to tell you that it's pretty messed up but then you're very messed up and you're not helping him at all he's getting worse by the day but I suppose that's what fucking God does to someone I wouldn't know because I always thought that God was supposed to be some old man in the sky that's what Michelangelo taught me and I never thought of fucking him even if that was physically possible and there was a chartered flight up there I didn't know that God actually lives in Japan and wears a suit what is that Dolce and Gabbana? Are you striking up links with Italy or is it a gift from your friends at the Vatican? Has anyone every told you that you look like a hustler because you do you know a regular midnight cowboy without a stetson some pretty queen who's in an amateur dramatic production of _Bugsy Malone_ -"

"OK! I... I answer him."

"He asks questions?"

"Sometimes."

"It's a lawyer thing. I want you to buy a dictaphone and record your sexual encounters, convert them to MP3 and email them to me as and when."

"What? No!" I say, shaking my head at this insanity.

"It's very important. Or your head will be in that pot."

"I'm not recording anything."

"I'd accept a film if you'd rather do that. Some clients prefer that because I can analyse body language as well. I saved a man's life that way. His wife despised him and was going to kill him and I could tell from how she climaxed. AVI files are fine."

"No!"

"You're very obstinate. I'm not sure if I like you. Keep a journal then."

"No. Listen, it really isn't any of your fucking business."

"Would you say that your relationship is purely sexual because you like sleeping with men and he's very discreet?"

"No!"

"That's very emphatic. Do you feel some deep emotional connection?"

"Let me out."

"Light, are you still alive?!" L shouts, making me look at the door, but B grabs my face and points it back towards him.

"Don't answer him. Answer me," he says.

"I suppose so."

"A deep emotional connection?"

"Yeah?"

"Elaborate."

"I can't!"

"Your emotional intelligence is very low. Your intelligence is generally very low but your emotional intelligence barely registers, it's just a flat line. This is a problem. I'm learning very little from you."

"Let me out then."

"I'm going to have to. I estimate that he's going to go outside and break the window in less than thirty seconds. Remember that pot, Light Yagami."

He leaves as quickly as he came in, opening the doors and swinging them out wide before he glides out. L stands back to let him past and looks stunned by the state of B's face. Then he remembers that I'm here and runs over to me, looking me over for damage like I'm a vase in an antique shop.

"Oh my God, what did he do to you?"

"I'm ok," I say, completely dazed by the experience. I need to sit down. I need to lie down.

"I'm going to bed. Night!" B howls from wherever he is. The sound of his voice makes me flinch.

"Do you need to be sick?" L asks me, rubbing my arms. I realise that I feel as cold as a block of ice. "Go ahead, I have a mop."

"I don't need to be sick."

"It might be a delayed reaction, like one of those spiders that bite you but you're not ill until a few hours afterwards. We need an anti-venom. B!"

"It's fine, L. Honestly."

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing important. He babbled."

"I'm so sorry," he says, and kisses me quickly three times. He must be relieved that I'm not dead and he's not the only one. "You've done a lot of bad things to me but you've never let your best friend lock me in a room with him, not that you have a best friend. I thought you were dead. Really. I thought he was going to kill you."

"No."

"Do you need to lie down?"

"I'll be alright."

"Cup of tea?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Maybe you should eat some couscous."

"I don't want any couscous."

"It's like a low-level cold at first. You need to take in enough calories and vitamins to fight the infection. Have some orange juice."

"I'm ok, really."

"I don't want you to die, Light," he tells me, struggling to regulate his breathing. I think he needs to breathe deeply into a paper bag a few times. I massage his shoulder to reassure him that by some miracle, I'm not dead.

"I know."

"No, this is an unusual concept for me," he says, looking pale with shock. "I love you."

"I know."

"No. I mean it. I really do."

"I know," I say, and he falls on one of the few chairs which is still upright. He stares at the floor and tries to comprehend this emotional bombshell.

"Jesus," he breathes out.

"Do you need a cup of tea?" I ask.

"Would you mind?"

"No."

He stays where he is and I turn around to pour some water in the kettle. My hands are shaking so much that I have to steady one hand by holding onto the wrist with the other. I'm not sure at what point this became L's traumatic experience and not mine.

"You are staying, aren't you? You're not going to run away because of my best friend."

"I'm not running away," I tell him.

"Can I have five sugars, please?"

"That's too much sugar."

"I need it. Light, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it. He's just trying to look after you in a really weird, over the top way."

"I know he is. God, I wish he'd get a fucking boyfriend manfriend partner person."

"I think he'd like you to be his boyfriend manfriend partner person," I mumble as I pour some water into a cup which isn't boiling so much as being cold from the tap and I don't know where the teabags are. I need to sit down. L doesn't have a comment on my conclusion, he only makes a noise through his teeth which sounds like a slow fart. Either he's blanking out the obvious or he's blind as a bat. "How can you not see that?" I ask him. "He's completely obsessed with you."

"Nooooo, that's just B. When he likes something, he gets like that. You should have seen him with his tamogotchi. He was constantly checking on it, waiting for it to die."

"He loves you."

"I know _that_."

"No, he does actually love you."

"What do you mean?"

"L."

"That's ridiculous," he laughs. "I've known him since we were kids. He's practically my brother, only I like him. And he's my best friend, so all that fuckery is illegal. Ok, I know it's not illegal but it should be illegal. Don't be stupid, Light."

"I can't believe that you haven't noticed."

"I can't believe that you think that just because you're in love me, everyone is. But I am wonderful, I suppose. It's an easy assumption to make. No, I'm not going to say anything bad about B because I love him to death and I'm quite scared of him, but his... he doesn't have many people. He's been like this before, although not quite like this. His self-confidence is underground somewhere."

"He's scared of losing you," I say. I'm on autopilot and feel like I'm coming round from some pretty invasive surgery. I can't find tea but I found orange juice. That's more or less the same thing so I pour it in the water and hand it to L.

"When did you become so perceptive?" he asks.

"It's kind of obvious. It's as obvious as the fact that he's in love with you, which is great news. We get rid of one and now there's another idiot. How long have you known each other?"

"Twenty seven years."

"Fuck," I sigh and rest my face against the table. So in all likelihood B's been obsessed with L for most of their lives. This obsession is nearly as old as I am.

"I'll speak to him tomorrow. I'll speak to Stephen tomorrow. I'll speak to everyone tomorrow. Are you going to stay here the whole weekend?"

"I thought that... Well, Kiyomi wants to change hospitals and I was thinking of finding a private clinic near here."

"Good thinking. Is this orange juice?"

"But I still have to go to the hospital tomorrow morning before Questions."

"I forgot about Kiyomi, but she is easy to forget about. I'll drop you off on the way to work. Ooooh, look at us, we're all husbandly. God, kill me. It's time."

"I hate being a husband."

"You look so tired," he tells me. Whatever gave him that idea?

"I am tired."

"I didn't think it'd be like this. When I woke up this morning, I didn't think it'd be like this."

"Have you changed the sheets on your bed?" I ask.

"What?"

"Change the sheets."

"There's nothing wrong with -"

"Change the sheets."

"But -"

"I'm not sleeping in that bed unless you change the sheets. Change the sheets and we'll lock the door and hopefully we'll still be alive in the morning."

"Ok," he agrees. I feel him kiss my head. "You're so sensitive these days."

"You said that when we first met."

"Did I?"

"In the inquiry."

"Oh."

"Tell me about when we met."

"But you know, you were there. I lawed you to death," he says. I smile and feel it stretch uncomfortably across my face. It makes me close my eyes.

"Tell me about it. What you thought."

"What I thought was very clear. I made it very clear, didn't I?"

"I just want to know."

"I thought that you were a liar and a cocky bastard and I wanted to sleep with you. Speaking of, you need to go to sleep, which is a terrible waste, if you ask me. I'll change the sheets." I hear his chair move against the floor as he stands but I don't feel like I can stand right now, myself.

"Was your coat Burberry?" I ask.

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought it was Burberry Prorsum but I forgot to make sure."

"B!" he shouts, making me sit up quickly. "B, what have you done to his brain?!"

"Be quiet! He didn't do anything. I was just thinking about your coat."

"I really don't know about the coat. It was a coat."

"Do you still have it?"

"I don't know that either. Look through my coats tomorrow if it's so very important."

"It was a winter coat though."

"Light, I'm really pleased that my five-year-old coat passed your style test, but you need to go to sleep. You know what B's known as in the trade? The ventilator. Because he makes people need one."

"Mmmm... I guess," I murmur, my eyes closing again. Maybe we should just sleep here. Lock ourselves in and sleep here where there are knives and blunt objects.

"Fucking bastard, I'll kill him tomorrow. As if you weren't mad enough."

"I'm not mad."

"Yeah, yeah, like you're the best judge of that."

* * *

**A/N** Disclaimer - Cash for influence quote from a Dr Chai Patel of the Cash for Honours scandal. I'm losing track of scandals.

I'll try and update again in a few days because the next part is a continuation of this L-centric disaster/Light's trial by fire scene only it's wandering in the general direction of plot, unlike this, but it would have been too long to include here. FBI snark and coats for two lovely people out there. I know I said no more author notes but I have to thank ElizabellaLight for being very talented and drawing lawyer!L, and thebarstool for making me Light, L, and B character playlists on 8tracks. Without those things and reviews and such, I probably wouldn't have forced myself to find the time to write anything, so thanks. I'll link the playlists on my profile because they're amaaaazing.


	21. After Me, The Flood

**Chapter Twenty**

**After Me, The Flood**

_My hate is general, I detest all men;_  
_Some because they are wicked and do evil,_  
_Others because they tolerate the wicked,_  
_Refusing them the active vigorous scorn_  
_Which vice should stimulate in virtuous minds_

* * *

A fact of life and one which most people would agree on is that the world is going down the toilet, but it's also an accepted fact of life that no one can do much about it, so they talk about what they're going to have for dinner instead. Sometimes they moan about politicians in a generalised, big hand movement way and expect us to fix it, but I don't associate with anyone who isn't in some way involved with politics and/or a politician, so I don't hear much of that. And I get good press even if no one else does.

The way I see it, the world has been slowly collapsing since the moment man put two feet on the ground, and politics was created to try and stop it spiralling out of control and give us, as a civilisation, some consolation that at least we're trying. It's just another lie and the world is full of them. I think that sometimes people need them because they can't handle the truth. They think they can and they crave it and search for conspiracy theories (usually way off the mark if not outright batshit insane) in order to think themselves enlightened and too wise to be force-fed lies. Those people see lies everywhere eventually, because lies always pollute any truth. Truth becomes myth and lies become truth, or maybe truth is submerged by the weight of the lies. I can empathise with the ignorant majority on this level: I think of years ago when I stood in a tiny room and asked someone to make me believe everything he told me. It's easier not to question everything and everyone. I was asking him to blind me to the world, because part of me wants to be happy in my ignorance too, just like everyone else. But I can't forget what's there and what's been. When I asked him to do that, it was like asking him to make me a virgin again. 'I want to start again, please.' That's how ridiculous a request it was. So it's unsurprising then that he didn't make me believe him - he didn't even try - and I'm still in that House thinking that the world is corrupt and that politics is the centre of it, and sometimes I can't pull myself out of bed. I latch onto my routine and tranquil pessimism to see myself through this long ordeal. I slap myself into the centre of the cause, because if something's ruining your life you might as well be close by it and see how it's progressing, even if you're putting yourself at risk of being hit by the blast when it occasionally explodes. It's a rotten foundation which is rotting the floorboards, and at some point someone will either have to fix it or tear the whole place down. The House saw me as a danger but didn't know it. I have to remake everything it stood for in my image. An evil thing really _can_ tread on hallowed ground, and a good thing can dress himself as a wolf and walk unseen through corridors and wood-clad walls, heavy with ancient veneration.

So, in politics, we ignore the bad completely. We endorse it privately sometimes, and only acknowledge it if it suits us to oppose it. We make weak gestures to combat it due to public demand, because that's necessary sometimes. We're listening. We're on your side. Salt of the earth. They are just that though: weak gestures. Those same weak gestures are ultimately a futile hammering on the door of evil, and it has the ironic effect that it only contributes to the problem. So, this descension into indulgence and opulence must ultimately find its roots in the political. Say a man kills another man for his money and that's his defence. He needed the money because of the economy and that we allow him to be a useless, immoral individual. Well, I have to listen to that kind of shit all the time. I earn my wages. It would be easier for me to pass him off as a rare bad egg, but in my heart, I know he has a (weak) point. The cause of the current state of the world, swirling around U-bend as it is, is a maelstrom of long ignored problems which only need a firm hand and a true heart to rectify it. Justice fails because justice is not justice. The effect of politics or law sticking its oar into a problem can become a cause in itself; a hastener, a co-conspirator to the original cause to spread more of the same through intense imitation and social ignorance. Our morals are immoral because we are gluttons to our vices. This can all be reversed, or we can at least rip it out and start on a new page, and under the same principle of imitation, regenerate the world.

All this and more bangs at my head like L's father's old gavel hammer which L now uses to tenderise steaks sometimes. I have to listen to all kinds of shit from people I hate, and I have to nod and act like I'm sympathetic, but they're completely wrong.

I sit at a table, surrounded by my idiots. Watari sits on my left and mews lamentations about crime and hate and, in particular, this 'new vogue for bad manners' which is a grave concern for him. But he thinks it's hopeless and he has no answers. No calls for harsh measures or a close inspection of all our establishments and institutions to see where things are going wrong. He hasn't got the mind or the time to invest in more than surface thinking, and he dislikes the idea of having an unpopular or even slightly controversial opinion. He's all for status quo. On my right is a man who's not in the cabinet anymore. I had him sacked him long ago and I think he's probably dead now. When I was Penber's aide and quite naive and hateful still, men like him saw the shell of me walk around. He was in his fifties and a thespian who was always quoting scenes from Chinese operas at me and occasionally singing when I walked past. He was an exquisite portrayal of sentimental culture best forgotten, eccentricity, orchid-keeping and attempted buggery. Whether he is actually back in office or not, he's fairly representative of my Cabinet and I despise them all. The well has been poisoned.

Each one of them have many individual and unique character flaws, but aside from their bond of ugliness and incompetence, two flaws are universal: stupidity and aimless ambition. The king of them all is L, and he's worse because he's only after pride and success in the form of hard-won, high risk cases and money and because he, unlike them, has the good sense to recognise the faults in his character, but he genuinely sees no need to change now. Well, perhaps he did once, not that I believe him. He associates me with corruption, perversion and immorality (although I don't know why), and he's thrown himself back into it after a short intermittence during which I think he only distanced himself from life in general and became like my Cabinet of idiots. He didn't exactly become a humanitarian through the influence of Stephen. No. L, who I love more than my own heart and for a reason I don't quite understand, contains that same aggression of self of the hopelessly defective. The selfishness which radiates from him and from everything he does is like being rocketed into the centre of a solar flare, and it's that intensity which sets him apart. His acknowledgement of evil - which he is more than capable of making some impact on - is accepted and relished for what it is. For him, it's proof of our own inevitable self destruction. In another life, maybe, he could have done something about it, but he chooses not to. He's captivating in his shameless glory and sheer force, and I admit that I have been distracted by it and by how similar and yet how different we are. The difference is that my aim is clear and precise and good, while his is almost completely without meaning. His contented sadness envelopes you in the bittersweet resignation that we are doomed, all of us. Our marrow is clogged with evil. He opposes whichever side that offers more of a challenge. There is morality in him, but it's something shameful which he'd only admit in the lightest of whispers or private jokes with me. He does laugh at it. 'Why, Light? Why are you so in love with fables? Only stupid people live by archaic notions of right and wrong. Why are you fighting for something that doesn't exist and never has? You know you'll never do anything good because there's no such thing. You can only please yourself. We live, we fuck, we die, as Julius Caesar said.'

Julius Caesar never said that, of course. I'm not stupid. L even lies about quotations.

But I wonder why he's not in the room with me when his is the one face I want to see. He keeps me solid in my convictions through his amused, detached interest. His way is right, he thinks, and he could convince everyone in the world that it's a fact, but there is no conviction behind it other than he knows he is right. Ask him for a reason and he will latch onto lazy metaphors to explain that law and justice have been established across the millennia and are therefore perfect and absolute, even when they're not. Even when they fail. Even when he's the cause of them failing. He could easily stun you into agreeing with him. I've seen it happen on the weaker willed who open their wide, fat, bright beaks to swallow his wordy, vague shit. But I see things in the plainest terms. The world is rotten. I must nurture a new, fresh sapling of the utmost purity, and from that a new world will grow.

And with you I have found something. You wanted me to win so I could lose. I hate you so much that it makes me sick. I love you so much that it makes me want to believe you. Both of us were happy to wander alone with nothing but our thoughts, but two people together are always going somewhere, aren't they. Just like in that fucking film of yours. And you exploit my vices, but my soul is virgin.

I should just tell them. No one's listening but I tell them that I'm really sorry that I'm not sorry at all, but I'm leaving my wife for lawyer. The baby will be fine because I have enough money to feed it. There's nothing more irresponsible than having children when you can't afford them. I know. It's a shock, isn't it? It is to me too. Anyway, the press aren't going to like it much, but if you stick by me then I'll make it worth your while. I'll kill you all in your sleep.

The table catches fire in front of me, spreading along the length of the oil soaked, over-polished wood while I sit cross-legged behind it. The flames light up my face and the faces of those around me. Somehow, this doesn't worry me or anyone else. It feels right. It's inevitable that it would end this way now that we're all going to burn to death. L said that I'd take everything with me when I burn up. I must find him. He should be here.

I open the door and it's smoky outside even though the fire's inside the room. I know this is a dream, I knew the moment I found myself in that room with the table on fire and I couldn't remember how I got there. I can't see an inch in front of myself and yet I keep walking with nothing to stop me, nothing to trip me up yet. I think that maybe I'm searching for something to trip me up, something to fight against. But suddenly I'm lost and I couldn't find my way back if I tried, so all I can do is stand in one spot and panic silently until perhaps I'll accept it. It makes me think of when I walked a street in a school uniform and felt completely alone and set apart. It never bothered me before.

I call for L. I call for anyone in the thick grey soup around me. I call out and my voice shows the panic I wouldn't allow to be heard, not ever. Then I see someone, a darkening in the mist getting closer. Tall, like him. The mist clears around him and he smiles at how my fingers clutch at him as he places his hands on my shoulder blades.

"It's alright. I'm here now," he says to me. I don't know why he's not worried like I am. Why he thinks this is all ok when we can't possibly find a way out of this, but his mouth fits perfectly over mine and all the words trapped inside me. I close my eyes to the fog and uncertainty to fall completely into kissing him. His hands run; tracing the back of my head, gripping my hair. He says to me, but voiceless, he says to me that it's ok. I'll be ok, I'll find my way out of here. I want to ask him how he found me again, that I _was_ alright before him when I was cold with a burning heat inside.

He says, "How I envy you."

"But you have a life," I tell him. He has me. We might be going to die in some smoke-filled room soon, but he has me for the life we've got left. I really couldn't think of a better way to clear my Cabinet and start again than for then all to die in a fire I started, but I don't want to die. I really don't want to die.

"I think I had the chance of one once," he says. Strange how well he blends in with this greyness, this blankness. The hollows under his eyes look dark and sick and tired. "No, what I have is law and justice, or whatever I make of it. That's all that's truly mine."

"It will happen, L. I'll make it happen." Yes, we'll be perfect with no more lies and no more death. I'm relying on a liar to tell me the truth about one thing: that it's forever or until I get bored of him. I won't let him make a fool out of me. I think one day that I'll have done all he asked of me. That I will have terminated my course because I was distracted by a man at the side of the road, and after all the world's sacrifice he'll laugh at me with his ugly doppelganger and walk away. Someone who can't really love him, because he wants to be him. He tries to make himself look just like him, only so twisted that it's comedic. Like a song played on an out of tune piano and in the wrong key anyway. He tries to copy how he moves and talks, but it's ridiculous, like a bad impressionist.

"I want to believe you," he whispers to me. "But I know what you are. Both of us are half a person, half a life."

"Two halves make a whole," I say. So idiotic, it's like something Naomi would say. But I didn't say it because he's still kissing me and he can't speak and neither can I. He's ruined me, I think. He made me this way. He made me mad. I'm very annoyed about it, to be honest.

When he pulls away from me and I open my eyes lazily, dizzy with fucked equilibrium, he's not there. It's not him. The same gilded inky black hair in this dim light, the same passive expression, but it's Kiyomi. I push her away to arm's length so the mist twirls around her as she moves backwards. I don't know why I'm reacting this way. I should be used to all this by now. It's the same old shit and it never makes any sense. Sayu's going to turn up playing a guitar in a minute. My parents are going to call me and say that they murdered some holy man in Goa and they're on the run. It's one of those dreams where you wake up feeling more tired than before you went to sleep.

"Where's L?"

"Nowhere," she says with a voice which sound layered, like she's been double tracked. I rub my head, crushing it with both hands. What the fuck is this?

"But he was just here."

"Don't be silly, darling," she smiles at me, morphing into something else before my eyes. Morphing into Naomi. She comes closer so I feel her pressing against me as she reaches up to kiss me again.

"No. Where is he?"

"He's dead, Light. You killed him. It's ok though, he wanted you to."

Then there's darkness. Darkness and a far away sort of pinching around my wrist first, like a tight bracelet. Then my hand being lifted and dropped unceremoniously on my own face. I open my eyes and in my shaking and blurred vision, see only a white grinning moon of a face with black hair. I think that it's the demon again, that's my first thought. Nothing reasonable, no, my first thought that it's a demon I imagined. L became Kiyomi, Kiyomi became Naomi and now Naomi has become a demon and it's just a dream, it's not real. My vision stops shaking and clears within a second of me sitting up, and the truth is worse than a demon.

My immediate reaction is to shout out a "fuck" and try to get as far away from him as possible, so my legs scurry stupidly under the sheets. My heels slide as I try to push myself back and in the end I get nowhere. B sits as still as a gravestone on the bed next to me where L should be, smiling at me in such a frighteningly sterile way, like Naomi and Kiyomi and L, and it almost hypnotises me into being as still as he is. All I've managed is to push myself back against the pillows, and I find myself staying in that half recumbent position like an animal that's accepted that it's not going to be able to escape from the fucking big panther that wants to eat it. Once he's content that I'm calm enough for him to speak and be heard, he clasps his hands together on his lap and leans towards me. B's poisoning my mind just by being in this house, because I don't have dreams like the one I've just had. If I ever dream about L these days, he's either sucking my cock or he just watches me, he never speaks. B would love to hear about my dreams, I bet, since he's responsible for fucking them up, and now I have the strangest feeling that my session has started.

"You're very pretty when you're asleep," he says. "It's a shame that you have to wake up, but one day you won't."

"What do you want?" I ask.

"You know how puppies are really cute when they're asleep but when they're awake they're like little evil goblins eating your shoes and you wish that they were asleep and cute all the time instead?" His voice is revving like an engine now. I push the hair from my face and look around me. I'm in L's room, yes. I'm in his bed.

"B, what do you want?"

"To look at the pretty," he says slowly. His smile is gone. His face is now honest in showing me his hatred.

"L!" I call out.

"He can't hear you. He's gone."

"No, he's not gone."

"He is. We've run out of coffee. It's a tragedy. I accidentally knocked the whole jar on the floor and he stomped his feet and went off to buy some more. Aren't I clumsy?"

"Stop."

"What's the matter, Prime Minister, you look pale. Have I woken you up too quickly? Oh dear, I am sorry. That kind of thing can ruin a person's day and sometimes things happen, like you could have thrashed out at me in your psychosis and I would have had to kill you in order to defend myself, because there's no reasoning with psychotics having an episode. Were you dreaming? Would you like to talk about it? I know that face. That's the face of someone who doesn't know if the dream has ended. I saw your eyes a minute ago flickering this way and that way under your eyelids and I wondered what you were seeing in there. In your head. But I'll tell you a secret: the dream never really stops. And now I do feel guilty, because he told me not to bother you. Not to come in here and talk to you. You don't sleep, like he doesn't sleep, but you make yourself that way, not like him, he can't, you can, you just won't let yourself. But it's obviously not good for you to sleep because look at you, you're such a mess. Nice chest, by the way. I must congratulate you on your sternum. Mine's not so great now, completely ruined for me, because nearly ten years ago I had an accident - I told you that I was clumsy - and for some reason the doctors wanted to save my life and do you know what they did? They put this HUGE needle into my sternum to inject all sorts of nice things into my bone marrow. It hurt a bit. They wouldn't let L hold my hand so he held my ankle instead. It's a beautiful bone, the sternum, not the ankle, but not as beautiful as the pelvis. The pelvis is the cradle of life. Did you know that the evolution of primates can be seen in the pelvis? Can I see your pelvis?" he says, in his grating voice, and pulls at the sheet over my lap.

"No!" I shout, pulling it out of his hands.

"Oh, such a prude," he mumbles, settling back again. "If I looked like you, I'd walk around naked all the time until I was arrested. I'd show everyone my pelvis, because I'm guessing that yours is -"

"Shut up," I whisper, shaking my head to try and clear it. "Where's L?"

"I told you, he's gone out. He wants you to sleep for a long, long time and have what he can't have so you won't be tired anymore, but he's an idiot because that's actually harmful. It's nearly six o'clock and you've been asleep for hours and hours and hours and hours and hours. Hypersomnia is linked with headaches, diabetes, heart disease and, basically, you die before you should. I'm doing you a favour by waking you up. You're not going to tell him I came in here, are you? Since I saved your life."

"No," I say, because that's what he wants me to say.

"Do you want something? I have some uppers. I have a lot of things, actually. I'm a qualified psychiatrist but you lose a lot of communication with fucked up people nowadays in that field. There's shitloads of mathematics involved in clinical psychiatry and I think that masking diseases of the mind with drugs is sad. It's like putting paintings under a blanket, don't you think? Who are we to say what's madness and what's sanity? Madness is beautiful. Diseases of the mind are beautiful things and they should be allowed to flourish and see out their course. That's what I think. And there's not as much listening involved in psychiatry. Most people I saw were referred to me and I saw them for ten minutes, read their case notes, saw scans and gave them drugs, and you can't get a good opinion of just how fucked up someone is unless you speak to them properly. So, I'm an unusual case. A psychiatrist who chooses to be a psychologist is quite mad because with my medical training I could be in a laboratory far away from all these bastards. Do you know what it means? Psychiatry? To heal the soul. I'm a soul healer, if I want to be. Psychology means the study of the soul and I prefer that. I watch and learn, I have no intention to heal. So yes, I have some uppers and you're welcome to have one or the whole bottle. I'd really like to see what effect they have on someone with your condition."

"I don't want anything. But I think you should -"

"So you won't tell him then? About our little chat?"

"No," I say. He remains motionless but his forehead knots at my answer and I worry that I've said the wrong thing. Why would L leave me with him like this?

"You're obedient," he tells me. "Maybe that's why he likes you. I mean, you come over all feisty but you're quite sensible in strange ways. I'd love to see the fireworks in your head. _You're_ unusual, you know. I'm sure that you know, you're proud of it. Real stunners like you don't often have interesting brains as well, because you don't need them. Yours is interesting, but ugly. Maybe you're pretty on the outside to disguise it, just like drugs masking diseases. The disease is still there underneath. Do you think that's what it is? You're genetically self-medicated to mask your disease from everyone, like a new stealthy evolution, and one day you'll kill us all. Your dad's a bit of a rugged sort, isn't he? I saw him at the Christmas party. And your mother is a kind of mouse, if you don't mind me saying so -"

"I do fucking mind."

"Oh. She's a very sweet little mouse though, I'm sure. Do you think you'll go that way? Half and half. A rugged mouse? I don't think it's fair for people to have interesting brains _and_ that chest you have there. Someone should fuck up one or the other to even up the score a bit, don't you think? Because you've got a really unfair advantage, you know. People like you are death camps. So, how do you feel? Making him choose between a nice man and you. He chose you by the looks of it. A completely hopeless case. I expected more from him because we used to laugh at people like you. You... pretty people. The conventionally, universally attractive. He hates people like you. He'll sleep with them, yeah, but wouldn't we all? We used to have bets on whether he could get them or not. I don't think he was interested most of the time but he likes a challenge. You people don't hold someone's attention for long though. You must be _really_ good in the sack, that's all I can say. Personally, I would have chosen Stephen. I would have taped over his mouth most of the time, but I would have chosen Stephen."

He's fucking insane. My throat closes and I have to cough to open it again so I can speak. "It's not your decision to make though it's -"

"What's it like sleeping in his bed?" he asks me eagerly. Oh, no.

"Erm…"

"Because I think it must be nice. L looks very nice in bed. Not pretty, because who wants pretty? Il est trop beau. The kind you only appreciate over time, when you put the time in. And I've put in a lot of time. Gamine is the word, only he's not a girl. Gamin. Don't you think?"

"Isn't that... pork?"

"No, not gammon. Gamin."

"I don't know that word."

"Sorry, that is a toughy. I'm so thoughtless sometimes. He's pale and interesting and kind of dead-looking with this..." He pauses and rotates his hand in the air in a very French way as he searches for some words, finally finding something incomprehensible to me. "Je ne sais quoi."

"What?"

"He's pulchritudinous."

"Is that a disease?"

"No. He's got this too-old-now-Dior-model thing about him. I'm thinking of when Galliano was around, you know? What do you think?" he asks, biting down hard on his thumb as he awaits my answer. I don't like where this is going. I don't like this whole situation, but this conversation, if you could call it that, is definitely not leading to a good place. He asks me for my opinion constantly and I think he wants me to agree with whatever he says.

"I don't know," I say. "He just looks like L."

"Don't tell me that you don't know, you know. I know he looks like L but I'm trying to find comparisons. Do you know what it's been like for me? I only talk to L. Just L and my therapist, and I wouldn't choose to speak to my therapist if I could avoid it, but I have to. They're the only people I speak to, apart from when I'm buying something or I'm in the bank, and that doesn't count, does it? I couldn't speak to my therapist about which model L looks like, and L knows fuck all about male models apart from 'fuck' and 'not fuck.' That's all they are to him, he doesn't see the artistry, the contrived genetics and the hard work that goes into looking how they do and posing and walking. It's like breeding a prize winning dog, really. It's a celebration of good looks, it's aspirational, they represent brands, but he thinks they're brainless, they're just sex dolls for him that he can wank over on a long flight, he doesn't know their names and he wouldn't be able to compare himself to anyone, he'd find that offensive and boring and pointless and stupid and his perception of self is shit, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe if I looked like you? You know what I'm talking about. Find a comparison."

The anger in him boils steadily as he talks and suddenly the loudness of his voice dips into a soft whisper sometimes only to rise up again. I realise that he doesn't just love L, he really _is_ obsessed with him in a serial killer kind of way, not in a concerned friend way. It must have gone past that years ago. I move my leg closer to the edge of the bed but he notices the slow movement under the sheets and eyes me, daring me to try to run. I decide against it and think that if I play along and keep him talking for long enough, L will come back and then it'll be alright.

"Maybe... Jakob Hybolt?" I suggest, and his brow becomes suspicious again.

"How did you know that L has Danish ancestry?"

"I didn't. Does he?"

"Did he tell you his name and you guessed?"

"No."

"Oh. I see what you mean, but no. Bastiaan Van Gaalen, possibly."

I can't help but give out a short laugh at that comparison, even though it's not the wisest move. I try to cover it up by pretending to splutter against my fist, which does seem to break the tension somehow, though he's not pleased with me.

"I said, possibly. No need to be so aggressive," he says. "It's rude."

"Adrian Sahores?"

"Hahahahahahaaaaa!"

"Gordon Bothe?"

"No, no, wrong, wrong, it's the jawline. It's the whole thing. Danish, English, Japanese, it's a weird mix but it works out quite well, doesn't it?"

And it's at this point that I notice a flash of a carving knife flicking next to his thigh. It's been hidden from me until now and I don't know whether he intended for me to see it, but now that I have, I keep thinking of that pot in the kitchen. All I want is to keep him talking and stop him from cutting my head off and putting it in a pot for L to find, like that rabbit in _Fatal Attraction_.

"Yes," I answer quickly.

"Yes," he agrees. "He just looks very good all round really, doesn't he? Parlez-vous français?"

"What?"

"That might answer my question. Do you speak French?"

"No. Why?"

"Bon," he says relaxing back into a slouch. He looks down at the bed now, not at me, but I can't take my eyes off the tip of the blade catching the light in his hand in jerky little movements. "Je veux vous parler. Je ne suis pas sûre de ce qui le rend si charmant. C'est un homme très élégant, et il était un très beau jeune homme, mais ça ne veut rien dire sans personnalité. Vous savez que c'est un masque, n'est-ce pas? En dessous, il n'est rien d'autre qu'un oiseau tombé du nid. Exactement comme ce merle que j'ai trouvé quand je l'ai rencontré pour la première fois. Il était tout ce que je voulais être, tout ce que j'ai toujours voulu. Vous n'avez idée de ce que c'est que d'aimer tout en étant ignorée, pas vraiment. Il mentait. L'amour n'a pas de valeur en soi. Ce n'est rien d'autre que de l'oxytocine, de la phényléthylamine et de la dopamine. Quand je m'en suis aperçue, j'ai su que je n'étais plus qu'un cadavre. Je ne peux pas répondre. Je suis mort."

Ok. I have don't really have any idea what he just said, but his unreadable expression as he looks at L's pillow next to me doesn't make me think that it could have been good.

"How long did L say he'd be?" I ask nervously.

"I estimate that he'll be back in about eighteen and a half minutes, depending on whether he goes to some service station or the coffee place in town. He could be as little as sixteen minutes, give or take. But it also depends on his state of mind, mood, tiredness, the pressure of his foot on the pedal, propulsion, traffic, weather -"

"Yes, alright."

He looks at me, startled, like he's been woken from a dream as well. Nearly twenty minutes in a room with B and a knife? No. I start to wrap the sheet around my waist and try not to make a big deal about my intention to escape. In my head, every horror film I've seen runs on a loop. I see myself running through this house, locking myself in rooms, knives chipping and slashing and finally breaking through the door and myself being carved up in various ways, all because L finds coffee so integral to his fucking day.

"I'll make some tea," I say. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about. As I swing my legs over to the edge of the bed, clasping the sheet behind me, B lifts up a corner of it and peers underneath.

"Ooooh, like that?" he squeals, bouncing up and down on the bed. "How brazen! Are we in a nudist camp? Do you want to show off your pelvis after all? What a whorish tease, you are."

"Hey!" I shout at him, pulling the sheet out of his hand. "I have clothes! Do you mind… going away?"

"But we're all boys together. You haven't got anything I haven't seen before. I've got those things myself and I've seen them. I see them all the time, can't get away from them. Sit back as you were. Legs on the bed," he says, patting the mattress. I do what he says because I don't really have a choice. Maybe I should resign to my fate, which is to be smeared all over this bed by some maniac with a knife. The thought makes me so angry that I think about just grappling him to the ground and killing him instead. He wouldn't expect it, he thinks that I'm terrified of him. I really hope that this coffee L buys is worth it.

"Shall I tell you a story?" B continues once I'm back into position. "How's your English holding up?"

"Ok."

"Because I can dumb this down and speak very slowly and loudly if you'd like me to."

"No, it's -"

"Well, if you're confused at any point, please stop me. I'd hate for you to miss my story. Once upon a time, there were two little boys who went to university. We got a flat together, L and me. I had to get into the same university, I had to and I did. It was all very nice for a while. Did he tell you about Astbury?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you what we did to Astbury?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you what _I_ did to Astbury?"

"You mean breaking his windows?"

"He didn't tell you," he smiles. "It's ok. So, as I said, it was all very nice. It was a bit like being in a celibate marriage to someone who fucks around every now and again, but it was very nice. He didn't bring it home, but I knew; I could smell it and the oxytocin always went to his head. You think that it's you, don't you? But it's not. It's just a chemical reaction. He went through different phases. Professors were a favourite for a time, so he went through different professors, always looking for Daddy. I like that complex. I think it's true for everyone. Daddy or Mummy. He went through one of my professors, which was strange and it was my fault because I introduced them, but I got a good mark that term, so I should thank L for that. No one his own age was ever good enough for him. Then he met David when he did work experience at the firm, but you couldn't help but like David. You'd like to hate him, but you couldn't. L spent most weekends in London then, because David had the most beeeeeyooooootiful apartment, you should have seen it. But then L went stupid about David and David went stupid about L. The Judge sacked David. Caught them doing something or other next to a photocopier, so L liked David even more then because he'd upset Daddy. It's attention-seeking, it's showing off, it's 'Look at me!' it's what he does. Daddy said that L would ruin David's career, and he kind of did. If you get fired from Lawliet & Company you're not going to get a position in another good firm. Not a really good firm. But David didn't care, I don't think. He said that he didn't. He was going to be a humanist and care for human rights, because law isn't _really_ concerned about human rights. There was a lot of oxytocin flying around and they'd say all these nice words, like I'm sure you two say all these nice words and it fucking annoys me, let me tell you. It's oxytocin, isn't it? What is it?"

"Oxytocin," I repeat after him like I'm answering a drill call. He calms down again when I say the word. I'm not really taking in what he's saying anymore, I just need to make some mad rush for the door or something.

"Yes. So, sometimes they'd stay at our flat. Very. Thin. Walls. Are you following me?"

"Yes."

"It's so pleasant talking to you. Have you ever thought of going into psychotherapy as a profession? A change of career, maybe? Because you're a very good listener. You're better than my therapist, he's shit, but he is only a therapist. I chose him _because_ he's shit. You remind me of the last person I spoke to about my problems. He was a good listener too, but he was in a coma. Anyway, I failed an exam because of it. Because of the thin walls. I couldn't revise, I couldn't think, just bang bang bang fucking through the walls and me in my pyjamas with a candlewick bedspread. Do you know when L changed? Course you don't. It was when he bought black sheets for his bed. I thought it was because he was lazy and he wouldn't have to wash them so often, but black sheets were very in at the time and they were sex, that's what they meant. It was a code and a mental prompt when he woke up in the morning that he should never sleep alone. God knows how he got through university. I think he was born with the law preinstalled. First year, fine, fuck, fuck, fuck, but then they actually expect you to do things, so all that stops then. Not for L. Never stopped for L. Is that fair? Why am I asking you, you were probably the same. He's always saying that you're the same but you're not the same, you're nothing like him, you're ugly to me, something vile, like dog shit on the pavement. How are you feeling there, son?"

"I think that I should -"

"But at least the sheets weren't satin and slidey. Black, satin and slidey like some old tart's bedroom, no, you need good grip in bed. What are these?" he asks, stroking my leg through the sheet.

"Egyptian cotton," I say, moving my leg away from him.

"Thread count?"

"I'd guess that they were three hundred. They're not great."

"Oh. At least they're not black," he grumbles, forgetting the sheets to stare again at the orange poster above the bed. "Where was I? Oh, yes. But before David, just before David, there was this one time. L came back drunk in the middle of the night and got into my bed. He did that. He doesn't like being alone sometimes but not all the time, he's like a cat in that respect. You should have seen him then. He didn't look that much different, but he smiled a lot more and he didn't wear those cunting suits. I had to scrub my face with sandpaper and had quite bad acne at times, but he'd just roll out of bed looking like a beautiful thing. Like something out of a magazine. I thought then, he's the kind of person people write books about, because he's art, that's what he is. Not many people noticed. I was always surprised that they didn't stop and stare at him, because I did. Eeeeee, I have a photo!" he howls, making me jump. He reaches inside his trouser pocket and pulls out his wallet with the same hand that holds the knife. Fuck, it's a big knife. "Do you want to see a photo?" he asks. "See my photo."

He shows me a photo. He shows me two photos. In one, a teenage L has one eye closed and is in the middle of saying something while holding a can of coke, and in the other one he's in a duffle coat on some hill and he doesn't look happy to be there. They're not good photos but I wouldn't care if they were, I'm just worried about that massive knife.

"Beautiful. Yes?" B asks me, like a salesman. His eagerness is frightening and I struggle over how to respond.

"I... guh... puh."

"I know, he has that effect on me sometimes too," he nods with understanding, putting the photos back in his wallet. I like L a lot but I don't think anyone could rival B in terms of blind devotion. He's like Misa, only not as highly strung. Now I know why L keeps him around.

"No, I... I just don't know what to say," I tell him, pulling the sheets closer up towards my chest. I'm thinking of making some sudden trapping move by throwing the sheet over him and his knife. "Is there a point to this?"

"He doesn't have very good taste in suits, does he?"

"He has a Dior one which is -"

"Yes, but generally he shouldn't wear suits. That's what I think," he says, and scratches the back of his neck. His eyes lock on the picture above my head again and his voice becomes so slow and wistful that his lisp becomes more pronounced, making every 's' whistle softly as he speaks. "So, he got into my bed and he was drunk and his breath stank of wine, he always liked wine, the Judge was in a wine club. He just stank. And he was laughing, not completely plastered, and this wasn't unusual because he was like that a lot then. The pubs in town used to water down the drinks, so it took a long time to get completely, depressive drunk. And he was talking to me. He asked me why I never saw anyone. I said that I was asexual, I'd decided. I was asexual and I was going to test a theory I had about the psychological effect of celibacy on someone who doesn't give a shit and, I couldn't say this then, you don't admit to things like this when you're that age, but I just don't like people. He didn't think that was true. He didn't believe that I was asexual, I mean. I said, 'How would you know?' And he kissed me. The only time he ever did, properly. And then he said to me, right in my face, he said to me: 'You're not asexual. And you like boys, by the way. Welcome to the club.' Then he laughed and turned over and went to sleep, just like that. I touched his back. Turn around, turn around. But he was already asleep."

"Oh." Is that all? This is getting stranger by the minute.

"You might be able to understand this, since you're full of oxytocin. I love L. I have done since I first saw him. I couldn't speak because I'd never seen anything like him before and I never have since. Nothing close. He was just better than me, better than anyone. It was a bad time, because at that age most children don't have a very fixed sense of self; no idea who they are, which is why they look for role models. I've thought about this a lot, and I think that I would have hated him if he wasn't my friend. Everyone always thought I was weird, I don't know why, but you end up believing it when everyone says that you're weird and old women cross the street when they see you. My own father crossed the street when he saw me, but L didn't. He said to me: 'You're not weird. Everyone else is.' Do you know what that meant?" he asks me, looking at me now and not the wall. "To be accepted. To be accepted by someone like him."

Fuck.

"I'm sure it was very nice," I say, as insipidly as I can. I'm alone in a house with a raving lunatic with a knife and an L fixation and I'm in his fixation's bed.

"It _was_ very nice," he agrees, still staring into my eyes. I feel like this is that moment in films when a villain confesses to someone, knowing that they're not going to tell anyone else because he's going to chop their head off soon. My head is going to be in that pot. I have to get out of here. But no sudden movements.

"Should I make a cup of tea?" I ask.

"We don't have any tea!" he gasps like it's a shock to him. "I knocked that jar over too. And the milk. And the sugar. I'm very clumsy."

"Maybe some water then."

"You're just like L, he does that. When he feels awkward he finds something else to distract himself with. And now you do that."

"People do that."

"I don't know about people, I know about L. Do I make you feel awkward? I know you're naked under there but there's no need to worry, really. I'm asexual, remember? L lies but he's also wrong sometimes, he just thinks that he's right. It's his ego. So I'm asexual, there's no need to worry. I would look at you in a purely clinical fashion. That might not be true, but psychologically I've convinced myself that it is, just like L's convinced himself that he's in love with you and you've convinced yourself that you're not a psycho raving mad stab stab stab."

"I'm... just thirsty."

"Try to cope. You're not in the Sahara and you don't look dehydrated. Let me see your gums," he says, suddenly leaning towards me. His knees bump against my legs and he tries to pull up my top lip with his arrow-like fingers.

"Get away from me!" I shout. I push him back automatically, and his eyes widen so much that they look like glass eyes on a patched together taxidermy display of a mutant at a freak show. His hand is still outstretched towards me with his poised fingers like pincers. I can't read him, I can only feel the menacing hatred which is being restrained on both sides. "What do you want?" I ask. He drops his hand but doesn't say anything for a moment.

"He told me that he hit you. Did he hit you? It's ok, I know the answer, you can tell me."

"Look, I'd really like to have a shower and put some clothes on now if -"

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear again. It's a problem with you. I thought that we decided not to let a language barrier come between us," he says, hitting the mattress firmly with his fist suddenly. Then, whether he's aware of it or not, he scratches his head with the handle of the knife so now I couldn't pretend that I didn't notice it even if I wanted to. "When I said that you can tell me, I meant that you _have_ tell me. It's a demand, not an invitation."

"In the past," I concede. I think that maybe there's nothing that L hasn't told him, and I don't know why he'd want to talk to anyone apart from me. I feel like I've been violated because L gave someone the key to the door. B drops the hand holding the knife to his lap, no longer making any attempt to hide it from me. It makes me bizarrely cooperative in answering his questions.

"Have you hit him?"

"No."

"I think that's a lie. I know that's a lie. I want to kill you for hitting him. I have to vocalise that. We have to vocalise intense anger otherwise it builds and builds and one day your heart stops. What was it like, when he hit you?"

"Well, it was… he was hitting me."

"Punching you. In the face."

"Yeah."

"Like Mike Tyson, I know. He said that you let him."

"You don't really have much say in it when someone's punching you."

"But you could have stopped him, he said. You like being hit. You like being hurt."

"No, that's stupid."

"If he hits you, it's something though, isn't it? It means something."

"It means that he's hitting me."

"It means that he cares enough to hit you, that's what you think."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes, you do. Because you don't like yourself. No one does like themselves really because they know themselves too well. Can't get away from ourselves because we're all locked inside. But you don't like yourself and you don't _like_ that you don't like yourself because what is there not to like? And when he hits you and he hurts you, it's because you deserve it. That's why you let him do it."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You're very mixed up in the head. You need me to tell you what's going on with you and you have to accept it and move forwards like a brave little soldier. I could help you, but I can't be bothered. I'll just let L carry on hitting you because it seems to be working. He told me about you. All about you. The first time he mentioned you, he spoke about you for such a long time that I knew you were trouble. Then a year went by and he was still talking about you. Two years went by and he was _still_ talking about you, only now he was asking me to explain you. What was wrong with you? You feel nothing, you said. He told me. You felt nothing but he felt everything. You were trouble. He came to visit me for a holiday and he spent the whole time talking about you. And when he wasn't talking about you, he was texting you, remember?"

"When he went to Paris?" I ask. I sneak a look at the clock on L's table and try to guess how much time has passed since he left. He's probably still standing in an aisle somewhere trying to decide between Columbian and Sumatran.

"Yes, when he went to Paris. I took him to Versailles. He likes Versailles. He likes the revolution but the grandeur's still there. He likes the Trianon. The revolution happened and Napoleon moved in. Can't resist grandeur, can you? It represents something awful but you can't resist it. People are still starving outside but you can't resist a bit of grandeur. That's what you are; grandeur, can't resist it. I said: 'Look at the mirrors. You can see us from all sides and angles.' We were in the Hall of Mirrors. He didn't look, he didn't care because you'd just sent him a text message. You wanted a limited edition tie from Chanel and you could only buy it in-store. No matter that there are Chanel stores in Tokyo, you wanted one from Paris. He thought that was funny. You know what we did? We left so L could find you this fucking horrendous limited edition tie from Chanel. You were trouble. I hated you and I didn't even know you. I know you now, see right through you and I still hate you. Then three years went by and you'd fucked him up royally, you really had. I could tell because he wasn't talking about you, he didn't mention you. Then the Judge died and I stayed with L in London for the funeral and to help him pack up the Judge's things and he loved the Judge, he really did, but his father was a bastard and he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve L. L was some fluke in the system. The Judge treated him like shit but threw him the occasional bone with scraps of meat on it, some small sign of pride or love. Nothing really, but he gave L his last mint imperial once and you'd think that it was a car by the way L talked about it. The thing with L is that if you show him the slightest sign of affection, he's loyal to you for life. He can't help it, it's like a prize to him. That's what happens to someone who has no affection given to them in those formative years sometimes. They look for it everywhere in every little thing, even where there is none. Like you. His mother loved him. He was her favourite and he loved her, but when she was leaving he sided with his father and she gave up on him. Do you know why he sided with his father? Because his father was the one who'd been wronged. This was all happening and I'd worry he would go with his mother, she was moving back to Japan and wanted to take him with her, but L stayed. I asked him to stay because I was selfish, but I don't know if that had any bearing on his decision. He saw wrong and right and he chose right over wrong and look where it got him. Stuck with a loveless man who didn't see the sacrifice his son had made. Maybe the Judge loved him, I don't know, but he thought his children should be grateful because he'd given them life. Life but no love. That's how you're going to be when your child's born, isn't it? The whole family are a load of cunts, but the Judge gave L his name. He hasn't told you his name then? Do you know L's name?"

"Lawliet."

"Don't be stupid, his _name!_" he says aggressively. His tone changes so quickly that I'm constantly on edge, not knowing which way he'll go. That and the knife is his problem. Right now, he's angry, but then he smiles. "He really hasn't told you. That's good. Do you know what that says to me? It says that he still doesn't trust you. That, and you haven't asked because you don't care."

"I do care."

"Then why haven't you asked? No matter. He said that you gave him your name straight away. 'My name is Light,' you said. You were 'giving him permission,' you said. You were a funny one, weren't you? A regular little heartbreaker." He taps the knife against his thigh in irritation and I know that he'd rather be driving it into my chest instead. "L told me that it wasn't really your name. He said that he called you Light for some reason I wouldn't understand because why would I understand? I wanted to ask him. Why would he think that I wouldn't understand his sentimentality to give you nicknames, but that was exactly what worried me about you. He said that it wasn't your name but I wouldn't be able to pronounce your name, so we should call you Light. But I didn't believe him. No romantic nicknames for a shag, no, never, so I googled you and, what do you know? Light Yagami is a politician in Japan and he's very pretty. I saw an interview with you on youtube and the interviewer called you Raito. Rait-fucking-O. That's a bit shit, isn't it? It suits you. But that _was_ your name. L's very stupid sometimes. He's very clever but he's also very stupid; most clever people are, they underestimate everyone else.

"So, three years later, there we were packing up the Judge's things and ignoring court orders and L didn't talk about you, he did anything to avoid talking about you. He didn't say much at all about anything and I expected that to some degree, but he never broke down and spilled his guts to me like I thought he would. He came to Paris with me for a week and he _still_ didn't talk about you. How do you go from changing my schedule so he could find you a fucking awful Chanel tie and asking me for a mind map straight to your heart, to never mentioning you again? Not even to say that you're a cunt, which you are, I hope you know that. 'I think he loves me, I know he does,' that's what he said to me once in my favourite caf_é_ and I couldn't go back there again after he said that, I never could, I never could, why does he care who loves him or not, he doesn't need you, but he wanted some way to make you love him and nothing worked, and I still don't know exactly what happened with you two, maybe you'll tell me, and I don't know, I don't understand how anyone wouldn't love him, but you're a malignant narcissist and a psychopath, you see things and you're self obsessed, L could only ever be decoration to you, some kind of extension of yourself, maybe, your support system, you can't understand feelings like that.

"But you were trouble. So I asked him about you in the end. I've never had to ask him before, he just tells me because I'm a bottomless pit for his secrets, I know. He can give them to me and I'll keep them safe for him. He said that you'd 'called it off'. Exact words. You were getting married, he didn't care, but he did care, if he didn't care, he wouldn't say that he didn't, he just wouldn't care, don't you agree? He was defending you. 'You can't fuck a man in politics, B. He wouldn't get anywhere if we started holding hands, and I want him to get somewhere.' _Fuck_, you were so much trouble. Then he was back in London and the case finished and he was going back to Japan and I said: 'Why? Stay!' You had him under contract and he had to go. So he went, he met Stephen, he hardly mentioned him. I came over for Christmas and saw you. You were definitely trouble. You were also really, stupidly in love with him and completely fucked over and desperate, which surprised me, and he was with you, which didn't surprise me. He just wanted to humiliate you, you know that, don't you? At the party. He just wanted to hurt you. That's why he went."

"I know," I say. I'm dry and empty. I want to go back to sleep right now while he's talking to me and wallow in his voice so it rockets around my mind while I'm asleep and let it do whatever it wants. Find and destroy whatever it wants.

"Yes, you know. I spoke to him afterwards and he told me about what you'd done," he mumbles, sounding bored. He looks over the surface over the table next to the bed and his eyes light up when he finds something. He holds a round metal cufflink up to show me and, God, not that. "Ooooh, look at these. He bought you these. You actually wear them? Ha! That's funny. So you wear the cufflinks he bought you with his initial on?"

"It's my initial too."

"Don't be stupid, you're so stupid, it's his initial and you know it. So, does that mean that you're his now? Is this your branding mark, Prime Minister? Some cheap piece of shit he bought with me? Are you fucked? Yes. Yes, I think you are. He bought these in anger for you as a joke because it was the only thing he could think of which would be more hurtful than not buying you anything at all, but you've made them into something sentimental -"

"They're not sentimental."

"Hmmmm... Well, whatever you say. Where was I?" he asks, putting the cufflink back on the table. "Can't say that you didn't deserve it anyway. I know what you've done to him. He told me about what you've done. Elevators and shag pads and he hit you and you let him. He was very cruel about you. I was shocked by how cruel he was, laughing at you, because even for him it was cruel, but I knew that it was a lie because he lies. You were trouble. You thought he'd had sex with you when he hadn't, had he? He wasn't even there. I'm very interested in it because it could point to a neuroanatomical or pathophysiological problem. It could be a one-off manic episode, which isn't as interesting, but there are definitely some abnormalities in your grey matter anyway. Reduction in the right medial temporal, lateral temporal, inferior frontal gyrus and bilateral reduction in the cingulate cortex, or something like that. Do you know what those words mean?"

I blink slowly like I'm trying to clear it all away. It binds me in a cold chain. No, I don't know what those words mean. He gets tired of waiting.

"Brain," he tells me. "Your brain is fucked. It might have been a stress related delusion because a very traumatic event can do that and he did hit you in the head, didn't he? But you also took psychoactive drugs a few years ago. L told me you were a smackhead when he first met you."

"No, I never did sma -"

"Hey, no judging here," he says, lifting his hands in front of him like he's thief caught in the act, "I like drugs. We'd all be dead without chemicals. Nevertheless, they can screw up your brain if you don't know what you're doing, and you wouldn't know what you were doing, not many people do. It depends on whether you'd rather blame your hallucinations on a psychiatric disorder or a tragic consequence of substance abuse. We should discuss it sometime, because if I was your doctor I'd be putting you on some anti-psychotics right now and send you in for an MRI to see what's going on in your noggin. Personally, I think it's psychosis. A complete detachment from reality. Some hallucinations are vivid, substantial perceptions in a conscious state in the absence of external stimuli. They don't normally include all senses though, and sex is a very advanced, complex hallucination to have to the point where it becomes a delusion; a strongly held conviction that it occurred. Well done. Was this a dream or were you actually awake and at a party and believed L was there? I would have liked to have seen you act it out. Some people say that animal therapy helps. Get a dog, maybe? Then again, I'd be worried that you might have an episode and think it was L and have sex with it. Anyway, that's your problem, good luck with that."

"Um, I'm not -"

"But I'm really not concerned with you and your welfare, I'm concerned with L and his welfare. He was trying to move on and you wouldn't let him go. This is all your fault because you're very mixed up in the head and, as I say, I'd help you, but I can't be bothered. I'll let you drown in it. I felt sorry for you in a way because it took a long time for you to realise what love is and you've taken it to a very strange place. Most people think love is sharing a bed and making someone a cup of tea when they're sick, but not for you, no. You didn't need it, it's a very annoying thing and it ruins lives. It would ruin _your_ life, that's what you thought, and even L saw that. But you can't stop it; it had you and suddenly all the things you wanted and had didn't mean anything, did they? You didn't notice until he wasn't there. _You_ didn't mean anything. Your personal worth hinges on L and his attention and validation. You became dependant. You ran after him like your life depended on it, and you got him, well done again, but he is stupid and susceptible to sexual advances. I'm very angry with you, because he was ok, he was getting better, he had Stephen and Stephen's a very nice man, he's not trouble, you're trouble, and here you are in his bed and Stephen's gone and so is L. What are you going to do now, Prime Minister?"

"What do you mean?"

"L thinks, because he's stupid, that you're going to leave your job and your wife and your baby that hasn't even been born yet, for him. For you too. It's what you want. Are you going to do that?"

"Yes… I -"

"I don't think you're serious. You're not stupid, not like him, you're not completely stupid. You're not going to do those things but you won't admit it to him or me or yourself because you can't, but you know it. Oh, there's his car. Can you hear it? The engine? Two minutes early on my lowest estimate. He must really want coffee. What I came here to say is that I know. I know and he knows really, he's just stupid and wants to believe you right now. You have a job and you won't give it up for him or yourself or anyone else. You have a job. You're God, he told you. You're God and how can God leave his job? Everything will fall apart. Why do you care so much?"

I breathe out. I can barely feel the relief of hearing L's car. I went past caring a while ago about what B was planning to do. B peers at me and waits a moment for an answer which doesn't come.

"You don't know, you just know that you can't leave," he says.

"I can."

"No, you can't. There can't be a gay Prime Minister, there can't, not a gay Prime Minister, not a bi Prime Minister, just a straight up straight Prime Minister with a pretty wife with a mean mouth and a hoard of children, you can't break the rules, not a Prime Minister who leaves his wife and baby for someone else, a man, his Head of PR, some lawyer, everyone hates lawyers, and it'll be worse for you because they'll look back and see that you've known each other for a long time and they'll think: 'How long's this been going on?' and you'll be dead as a dodo, where's your moral fibre, think of the press, you'll be a joke."

"I don't care."

"But you do care."

He stares at me for another moment until he hears the door open downstairs and a low rumble of L's voice as he drops something and swears, then B stands up to leave. When he turns his back to me, all my emotion comes back. What right has he to judge me and think that he understands me? I make my mind up then. I was going to sit back calmly until he got on his flight and left, but he started this and I consider this the breaking of a fragile treaty. Poor bastard doesn't know what he's got himself into.

"You weren't like this with Stephen, were you?" I ask, making him turn back to me in surprise.

"You're asking me a question?"

"You might think this is about L but it's not. This is about you. Everything you said about me isn't about me, it's about you. L makes you real with his attention, L makes you valid. I know, I felt the same way for a second once, but only for a second. I think it's sad that you don't realise it, but I'm more than a threat. I've already won without even trying. Just by being myself, I've beaten you. How could you ever hope to compete against me in anything? If all you are is L, how can you expect him to pay attention to something that's nothing but a pale reflection of himself? You haven't got the guts to even tell him after nearly thirty years and it's because you know he'll reject you. That's why. You've got to accept that I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. And you can psychobabble as much as you like, but no one has ever beaten me."

"Apart from L, you mean? Your opinion is as important to me as the shipping forecast, Light Yagami. I'm just letting you know that I know. When you're done with him, I'll take him back to Paris with me. I'll find things for him to do. We'll go to Disneyland. He doesn't have a firm in Paris, so there's something for him to do. His French is lovely, you heard it. Sounds like music, doesn't it? He'll forget about you, because I'll make him forget about you. When you go, like the coward you are, never speak to him again and leave him alone. Do you understand? You understand."

No, L wouldn't leave me, not again, and I wouldn't leave him. It didn't work when we were apart and it won't happen again. I like him best when he looks at me without speaking, like he sees his own destruction and he's slow and calm and in love with it. But B's gone and he's shut the door behind him so all these thoughts rattle through my mind with flashes of my dream mixed in. I sit there while they bounce of the walls. My eyes move but I take in colours but no forms, no reality. Black shapes move either side of me and no, no, I won't see them, they're not there. I force them out. I hear L's voice downstairs but can't understand what he's saying. I only hear the timbre of his voice and it makes me come back. I see myself in the mirror and I'm still a stranger. My face is sharp and monstrously perfect. The sun touches me and my skin glows for weeks afterwards. There's not one flaw, not one. It's asphalt which covers hell. I see why some people look away when my eyes are on them. I feel pestilent inside and it shows. Sometimes I can't hide it, like now. No wonder they turn away. B's right about everything.

After a shower and with damp hair, I pull my change of clothes in their plastic sheath off the back of the chair, lay it on the bed and unzip the garment cover, like a Y incision on a dead body to expose what's inside. I look at it. The steel grey suit with no one in it. I'm not myself until I'm in it. I can't do anything until I'm in it.

"Why are you awake? We don't need to go for another two hours," L asks me when I walk into the lounge. He's hasn't gone. He's not dead. He's sitting in a chair next to B. Both of them stare at me with mugs of coffee on the table in front of them, and the smell of it is revolting in its bitterness. I feel like an intruder. A pile of papers which I'll be in, I'm sure, sit on the table. Kiyomi's face is folded on the front page so you can only see her chin and throat but I know it's her. I close my eyes and stretch the skin across my cheekbone with the palm of my hand. Someone's screaming in my head and I stand on the threshold like there's a delay before the day hits me. What's he talking about?

"Coffee," I hear myself say.

"Sit down then," he says as he stands up. So I should sit down as while he stands? He's worried about me. "I'll bring you one."

"You have to meet Stephen today," B tells him brusquely before he sips his coffee. I feel L watching me as I look around the room and try to find something which makes me feel welcome. I know this place. I know these things.

"Thank you for reminding me because I really had forgotten," L replies, still looking at me. I think then that we're like magnetic fields for each other and it's never going to change. It's gone beyond admiration and work and striving for some combined goal to make life interesting for both of us and all those other stupid things. It's going to kill us both and I'll never forgive him. I wish B would go away. Go back to France.

"Are you going to let him come back here and see that Mr Predator stayed over and that he's been sleeping in your bed, Grandma?"

"Shut up, B."

"Can I sit outside?" I ask.

"It's cold out there," L says. There's so much worry around his eyes. Why can't I appreciate it? "Take my coat. I'll be out in a minute." I take his coat as I pass by them and take it out with me like it's a blanket, half-folded in my arms. "What did you do to him?" I hear him ask B.

"Nothing."

"He's not like this when he wakes up. You've done something to him."

"I haven't. The man clearly needs coffee."

"Don't give me that shi -"

I close the glass door so it shuts out the voices. Gusts of wind wrap around me and swirl in my the shell of the ear like a forked tongue. I walk towards a set of metal chairs spread around a table and everything's too bright. Stephen knows the truth in his heart and I'm going to fail like the coward I am. I do care.

I kick in so quickly. All of me wakes up so quickly. My hand reaches into my pocket and I lean back against the chair with L's coat lying across my lap as I light a cigarette. I don't even want one. It's like something else is making decisions for me, trying to remind me of who I am.

A few minutes later, the door slides open and L walks towards me - it must be, it wouldn't be anyone else - but my eyes are on a fixed point in the distance, like the lake is a road to somewhere and I can't tear my eye away from it, not even to look at him. I can't take my eyes off the road. It's only the sound of a cup being placed on the table that tells me that he's close to me. He puts his hand on my shoulder and I hand him his coat which I haven't even looked at.

"I'm sorry about B," he says.

The mouthful of coffee I've taken makes me vicious with immediate effect. I could kill someone right now. Nothing can touch me. I am closed. My pain is numbing in its intensity; a sea of uncertainty, my indifference to the pain of others. I am above it all. I'll do what's right for them, because they don't know what that could possibly be. I feed on everyone's complete detachment from themselves.

"Do you have any idea at all of when he might be fucking off?"

"Patience, now. Is he upsetting you?" he asks as he sits down, drawing the chair in towards the table. I look at him with his hands cupped around the mug as the only warm thing here. And he found the coat. He's wearing it for me. He's wearing that coat and his Dior suit just for me, like those layers could make me think more of him. I inhale and expel smoke and carbon dioxide.

"No. It's just annoying that he's here."

"Well, hold fire. He'll only be a few more days at most. This is a break for him. You know, he works very hard. He doesn't take any time off."

"You need to take me to the hospital before work, ok? I'll just show my face, so you can wait outside."

"It'd be my pleasure. Light, I have a present for you."

"Yeah, coffee."

"No, not coffee. Come back inside."

I follow him back inside for the promise of something which might be interesting. If he thinks it is then it must be, I suppose. B's still where he was and he watches L with big round eyes like cameras. Speaking of, there's what looks like a big camera bag on the table.

"Is that my present?" I ask.

"Yes, and it comes with a story. I was just driving along when I saw a car pulled up at the roadside. Illegally parked, I might add. And all these tripods were on the roof. So, I pull over to investigate, you know me, and what did I find? A man up a fucking tree with a telephoto lens on his camera which was pointed right at my house. So I say to him: 'Excuse me, good sir, but why are you taking photographs of my house? Would you like to buy it?' He comes down from the tree and admits that he's had a tip-off that the PM's staying at my house. He was a bit cagey about the source but eventually he was very cooperative and, I'm very sorry, Light, but someone on your security is very free with giving information to freelancers. You're devastated because of your wife being admitted to hospital and all that drama. It's a big story. I say: 'Well that's not very nice now, is it? That's an invasion of privacy.' Anyway, he was only doing his job and he was quite a nice man, really. I still took his camera though. Look at this baby."

He reaches inside a bag on the table and holds up an disgustingly large camera. My mind races to the first fear I have, which is that the photographer got a photo of me asleep in L's bed even though I know that's not possible unless that camera can see through closed blinds. I find it ridiculous for a moment how something like sex, which only means anything to the people involved and often not even then, could be such a devastating thing to my image. I should have a harem if I want one. A house plated in gold because of who I am. I can see the photo in the paper already, all grainy from distance. If not of me in his bed, then just a photo of me being in his house is damaging. I'm too friendly with my Head of PR and I should only be friendly with him on a basic, work-related level. My friends should be politically neutral and well chosen, like good people who raise money for charity. Any innocent photo of me here would say that I'm stressed about my wife. I'm stressed about my life. They're all looking for a sign of weakness from me. Me with the world on my shoulders and struggling to juggle the responsibility of millions alongside my desperate attempts of having a life. That's how they'll see it. But all I see is choosing that – the easier option - being a coward, B being right. He has to go.

"Break it," I tell him. He pauses, standing still in his suit and looking at me like I'm sex incarnate. Yes, break his bones.

"It's worth a lot of money. I was just going to delete the memory cards and give it back."

"Break it and then give it back to him."

He swallows and starts hyperventilating, I think. "Play football with me?" he gasps. "B, do you want to join in?"

"No," B says, dense with disapproval. He drinks his coffee while L and I smile at each other. I see L on the dining table with his legs spread for me and ripping the shirt from my back while B drinks his coffee and pretends that it's not happening, no, it's not happening. If this is the way it could be then he can stay for as long as he likes. I can think of no better torture for him than to throw reality in his face and degrade L in his eyes forever.

L tilts his hands so the camera falls to the floor with a thud and the sound of breaking insides. We're like two children, silent and smiling with the havoc we're causing. A livelihood we might be wrecking, a broken promise, vengeance against everything that keeps us apart. He kicks the camera towards me and it rolls and bounces across the wooden floor until I stop it by pressing my foot on top of it, then I kick it back to him. He kicks it into the wall and it scuffs the paint with black plastic. Parts fly off from it and soon we're left with a tangle of wires and shards of plastic and broken glass. He carefully picks up the hulk of what remains and inspects it a face which is hot with the thrill of it.

"Oh dear. I think we killed it," he says.

"I think we did. It's definitely dead." I agree, walking over to examine the fairly tame destruction we've caused when you compare it to the lives we've destroyed over the years, but it's always deserved. Everyone deserves it. My hand move over the representative broken carcass to touch his warm fingers and his wrist until I can feel his pulse throbbing underneath a thin veil of skin. His eyes half close with whatever foreplay this is. I want him on that table and B can watch. I love the idea of B or of anyone watching and crying and beating me on the back with closed fists. "How are we doing for time?" I ask.

"Oh, we never have anywhere near enough," he whispers, shaking his head slightly at the situation we're condemned to. I suppose that it might be romantic, this living in moments between wide desert expanses of other people and other things and other jobs. He drops the camera and I hear it shatter and scatter across the floor. It makes me gnaw at his lip and he swings his arms around my neck in something which could be a choking hold in another situation, and only so he crushes our faces closer together. It's a lovely way to die, this kind of asphyxiation.

"This is completely fucked!" I hear B say faintly a few feet away. Well, yes. That was the point. Shut that chasm of a mouth and watch this, you bastard. "Could you get sued for this, L? L?"

But L's not in his office at the moment. He snaps his teeth together close to my lips while we laugh to ourselves softly, and B crouches on the floor at our feet, where he should be. Oh, God. It's just so suggestive to me of so many things when L's smothering me and B's on the floor picking up the broken pieces, but then I feel something clamp onto my tongue. I open my eyes to see L's eyes staring right back at me, hardly in focus because we're so close. He presses his teeth hard into my tongue as he smiles and he stays like that for a drawn out moment, making sure that I've got the message. The message is that he could shut me up forever and mar me. I want him to do it do it do it do it but I'm terrified that he will. I'll never speak again because of him. What am I without a clear voice? All I am will be trapped within me forever. No one will pay any attention to a speaker who can't speak. I'll have only letters and hand movements, not words. I stay so still with anxiety and loving the idea when he releases me and steps back, waiting to see what I'll do.

I smile at him and his smugness while the tingling, throbbing blood rushes back into the constricted tissue. I run it numbly along the roof of my mouth, then I slap him hard across the face so his head turns sharply to one side. He looks back at me after a second with a blushing welt appearing on his cheek.

"Hey!" B shouts, grabbing my arm and trying to drag me away, like he could. "That's it. Your head is going in that pot."

"You bitchslapped me," L whispers, in awe of me. He puts his hand on B's, who immediately relaxes his grip on my arm. I don't know why I didn't think of it before, but I see some catastrophic heresy with B and L and me. I haven't done something like that for a long time and I could make them both raw with pain, I could. I could split B open and L would hold his hand while I do it. I should suggest it sometime before he goes, but I doubt this moment would ever come again. And it would be L who I'd have to convince, not B. B would fly around the world as many times as it took if L showed him the tiniest glimmer of interest, whether I was involved or not. 'Turn around, turn around. But he was already asleep.' I'd give B a present and then tear it away from him. But I watch the bloom grow on L's face and kiss it, feeling the injured warmth under my lips as I speak.

"Because you're a bitch."

He smiles again, the skin stretching tight. When he touches me or looks at me or speaks to me, he reminds me that all my cells are alive and screaming for him and that even the tip of my tongue is his. That I stayed there knowing that he could, almost hoping that he would leave his fucking mark on me. I wonder if he feels the same and whether he thinks the same. Far behind his beautiful breathing, B talks at us in his rapid way, and I squeeze my eyes tighter because I could so easily shut him up. I'd love to see him collapse into L and L only doing it because I asked him to. The feeling between us all would be poles apart and it'd be so funny to watch. Anger and frustration paints itself on my forehead and I settle for the closest thing to hurt B, so I kiss L harder. I don't know if B's watching. I think that he must turn a blind eye to anything like this, like he's trying to ignore everything which reminds him of his truth. L moves his face to press it against my cheek and his back heaves under my hands.

"We should go," he suggests and pulls away to take the camera out of B's hands. "We'll have to smash this thing some more later on to get the memory card out. Get yourself ready, Light. We'll get something to eat on the way."

"Ok."

"We'll be back later, B," L tells him carelessly as he picks up his briefcase, then he looks at me like we might take a detour on the way so he can finish what he started, but it seems pointless without B seeing it or hearing it. Poor Kiyomi. Poor unborn child. And L is so dismissive of B when he speaks to him sometimes, because he knows that he'll always be there no matter how he treats him. He spoke to me like that once, over weeks and months, and it hurt like someone threw a drawer full of knives at me. He might not even realise that he makes you feel like you're there only for him to discard in favour of something more interesting. And you stay there waiting for him to come back to you, because when he does, he makes you real again.

But my lips are wet from him. Did you see, B? Did you see my lips shining from him? I'm hard because of him, my tongue hurts because of him. I drink my coffee and feel it tingling on my tongue while I watch B. But B doesn't look at me really, just a glance as he walks past L towards the kitchen to gaze longingly at a pot on the hob, probably, and to wish that he was me. I'm going to make him suffer before he leaves. And when he does leave, even that will be painful.

* * *

**A/N** Sorry for Light's long political monologue of mad, his dream, and for B's French section. I couldn't avoid the French (I tried) because the only way I saw him making any kind of confession would be if he was sure of not being understood by Light (+ weird affinity while hating each other's guts). Plus, B's pretentious in this. Let's throw in a different language to emphasise that. Thanks to Alexandre for doing a lovely translation into French for me. Here's the English with some stolen and twisted dialogue from B in _Another Note._

"Good. I want to talk to you. I'm not sure what makes him so charming. He's a very handsome man, and he was a beautiful boy, but it means nothing without personality. You know it's all a mask, don't you? Underneath, he is just a broken bird. Just like that blackbird I found when I first met him. He was everything I wanted to be. All I ever wanted. You have never known what it's like to love and be ignored, not really. He lied. Love has no intrinsic value. All it is is oxytocin, phenethylamine and dopamine. When I realised that, I knew that I have become a corpse. I cannot answer. I am dead."

And the quote at the beginning of the chapter is from The Misanthrope by Molière to continue the French theme we have here. I'm hoping to update again later or tomorrow (EDIT Actually might be a couple of days because things have turned up, but still shouldn't be too long. If I get to 100 reviews WTF! I'll try to rush out something) and tie up most of the loose ends to leave things clear for honest to God actual plot, plot, plot until the end. Praise be. Thanks again for the reviews (!) and thanks especially to lovely people on tumblr for being brilliant.


	22. I Know Why I Walk & Talk Like A Machine

**Chapter Twenty One**

**I Know Exactly Why I Walk And Talk Like A Machine **

* * *

"You look better," I lie smoothly. She looks terrible, like an actress (who looks bad anyway) who has been plastered in wax and makeup in order to play a convincing corpse. I think of a short story I read when I was five or six. I picked it up by accident in the library because the cover looked interesting to me. Some woman with a skull-like face was dressed in torn rags and had bloody, ripped fingernails. She looked like that because she'd been buried alive and she'd clawed at the inside of her coffin. That's what Kiyomi looks like to me now. My mother tore the book out of my hands before I could finish the story, and I never did finish it – I never thought about it again until now – but I remember thinking that it was a sad romance of a brother and his sister. It was a few years until I realised that to marry your sister is wrong, but I suppose that I did it anyway. I married my sister, I'm in love with my brother and he twists around me like a strangling vine. We're all going to be buried alive because of the morbid, grotesque sexuality which pollutes my thoughts.

"Do you think?" she asks me, suddenly girl-like and stupid as she strokes her hair down shyly. She never used to be quite so easily flattered, but she must be starved of her expected level of attention, so she'll take anything she can get. She makes me feel sick then; sick and hypersensitive to the sight and sound of her, so I stand from the death watch chair and walk to the window to watch over the view below instead. Somewhere down there, hidden by fluffed up trees, L's waiting for me in his car. I have a lot to do today. I have to sack my chief of security, I have to replace him, I have to give a live radio interview, and I'm filled with a dark intent to gift something to L, or defy B, I'm not sure which. "I put makeup on," Kiyomi says, reminding me that she's still here.

"Oh. Well, even if it is fake, you look lovely."

"That's horrible," she growls, like an angry cat. It makes me smile down on the plague of people outside. Yes, slash and dig your claws right into me, you bitter woman.

"The truth _is_ horrible. Like the truth is that you're an incubator."

"I know that," she snaps after barely a second's pause, so I wonder if she started answering before she'd heard my full summary of her or whether she heard it at all. Did I even say it? "But if that's true then it's your fault."

"Yes. I did do that, didn't I."

After a few moments of the heaviest silence, she brokenly begs me to come over to her. She asks me again when I don't immediately report for duty - having been distracted by some mild altercation over parking spaces in the hospital car park below - but I walk to her sullenly and sit on the bed for her to clasp my hand in hers like desperate lovers. "It's not fair."

"No. But you're doing well. I'm pleased with you," I tell her and kiss her cheek while my eyes remain open to look at the slow rising and dipping green line on the monitor behind her. She starts dripping kisses on my face until she suddenly freezes, and I know that she's looking at the line of my jaw and the suckling bloody mark left by L's mouth. I told him not to, but he was determined and we laughed about it afterwards, and there was no more than that at the side of a quiet road facing the lake. We're abnormal in our permanent storm of mauling each other, like the whole thing can't be sustained for long so we should try to pack a life into five minutes. My challenge for today, as set by my dream teacher, is to conceal it or prevent it from being noticed, but I've failed already. If Kiyomi asks me, I don't have an excuse, and I'm not sure if I want to think of one. The idea of being discovered fills me with a manic pride and urge to laugh instead what I'd anticipated, which was a peace of mind like the dying light of a late afternoon. I am learned simply through the passage of time. I've known opposition, victory, despair, hatred and love through walking the same path as one man. It's unbearable waiting. Ask me.

But she kisses the mark instead, so we will continue to live as strangers. The bruise under my skin and what it represents isn't there, not for her. Or do we have that kind of relationship where everything is understood and accepted as long as her place is secure as my little queen. Am I absolved?

She leans back on her pillows and reaches for a magazine from the table next to her, opening it up in front of my face – the only sign that her acceptance is reluctantly given and that nothing will be said unless I force the issue. I'm disappointed but unsurprised, and leave her to return to the window.

"I have a bill coming up," I say, already bored and frustrated enough with her fear and wilful ignorance. "I'm going to discuss it in a cabinet meeting this afternoon, I think."

"You think?"

"I'm not sure yet. Perhaps it's too early."

"Indecisiveness is just what this country needs."

Oh! A little cat scratch. I lean against the windowsill to watch her passive aggressiveness ooze from her as she reads the magazine.

"You think I'm indecisive?" I ask.

"Weak. My father never sat on bill proposals. It's why he had the reputation and respect that he had. He always had his thoughts together and was strong in his convictions, otherwise how are you going to get a bill through the House if you can't even look like you believe in it in front of your own cabinet? You can be _too_ careful, Light."

She turns a page.

"Maybe that's why his bill proposals were so few and far between. And I sat in on meetings for his proposals, when he did have one, and he was a stammering, sweating mess, Kiyomi."

She looks at me with a dislike I'd never seen from her before, not even directed towards someone I knew she despised. She knows, despite her talk of convictions, that I'm telling the truth. Her father rode on a wave of pomp with nothing to back it up. Just because he died doesn't change that. No respect is due.

"How dare you."

"And they were pointless bills. Only backbenchers turned up to vote."

"Be quiet."

"The truth is horrible, isn't it? Maybe if he put more time and consideration into his bills and _had_ convictions in the first place instead of a lot of money, then he would have been this glorious politician with the respect you think he had."

Smiling would be vulgar, but it's hard not to. I think that this might be the most intimate we've ever been, and she looks at me now like she might kill me if she had the means and strength to do it. It goes back to that night when she must have watched me speak about her father's tragic death on repeat on TV until it brainwashed her. He was an inspiration to me. No. No, that was a lie.

"Go back to your whore, Light," she says. "You... policeman's son." And I do laugh at that. Cross my arms and laugh like it's an aside in a barely funny film. She spits out her supposed insult without realising how stupid she sounds. I walk over to her slowly and her expression doesn't change, not even when I lean down towards her.

"Your bit of rough."

"Your child will be so ugly," she whispers with a curling, disgusted lip.

"He might be lucky," I smile as I move away from her. "He might look like me."

"Just go. I can't bear to look at you."

"I don't have the time anyway, as fun is this is. Is it worth me calling in later or can you really not bear to look at me? I am your husband after all."

"I _might_ see you tomorrow."

"Oh! Well, I'll look forward to seeing if you'll bless me with an audience in your presence. By the way, I found a clinic for you out of the city. It's more secure. Have a nice day," I say, picking up my briefcase and coat. The hospital security are waiting for me outside to see me to L's car, and they jump to attention when I open the door.

"Light," Kiyomi says behind me. It's irritating to be beckoned back, but it's worth it just to close the door again on the guards' faces.

"Hmm?"

"After the baby's born, we'll go back to how we were, won't we?"

"I didn't know that anything had changed."

* * *

And I don't know how I fit all these things into my day.

L doesn't ask about Kiyomi and I don't speak about her. In fact, we don't really speak at all and part ways in the lobby, since I was cornered by one of my fraudulent fascists. And after an exhausting morning of strange moments and intense boredom, I call for a cabinet meeting. It's unusual, because the immediacy makes it sound like an emergency, which it isn't, but it makes the opposition nervous. It makes everyone nervous. If they knew the reason why it's been called then they'd be surprised. I want to give L a present before I get rid of his friend. He'll see it as a sign of my devotion and of things to come. We'll be kicking cameras and each other forever, and I'll be rewarded and have leverage against his impatience in the mean time. But as soon as I sent the memo, I wondered whether I was too hasty. I don't do things like this on the fly to get my Head of PR or anyone else. My intentions are not good, so maybe the bill isn't either. I live in sanity but my mind is full of ways to impress him like he's the only thing that matters. I don't even know why I'm doing this anymore, and I'm a few steps away from being like him, I can feel it. If I end up doing good things, it'll be by accident or because of the challenge, but I could back out now and he'd be none the wiser.

We're in Mihael's choice of bar and I know immediately that it's not politically correct for me to be here. Firstly, there are overtly Christian overtones in the décor. Secondly, there are women in bunny outfits being dragged around by suits who hold silk ribbons attached to the girls' necks. The fact that it's just after noon just makes me more concerned about the reputation of this place. I should be demanding that it's shut down, not drinking here. My (as of this morning) newly promoted bodyguard and chief of security – an unhappy man who's been unhappily married half of his life – sits several tables away from me and looks at the girls in distant longing for the different and temporary. These girls are made to be thrown away, like all pretty things. Is that what B said, or is it what I think?

The roof garden is secured off for us, because I'm important and the people I'm with are chosen. The chairs are backwards forwards, and I don't understand how they work exactly, but they spring you up and down when you move somehow as a result. An exposed roof garden is a place I rarely go because I always think that I'm just asking for a sniper to gun me down. I have a retraction typed out on my phone with a send button flashing, begging me to press it. Would I look weak and indecisive if I sent it?

"So, Shiori's like: 'Let's give it another go, Teru,' and I'm like: 'No, Shiori. I hate you. Let's not.' That's how it went," Mikami says, gulping down his glass of tonic water. I hope there's some gin in it, otherwise Naomi's well and truly got the better of him. No, officially my stance is that there should not be gin in it because it's a work day and it's before six.

"I love mediation because it's ridiculous. Like talking will solve anything. Talking too much was probably what broke down the marriage in the first place," L sighs, lounging back in his chair with his eyes closed as he slips his shoes off. Yes, why not? Because that's not strange at all. This whole place is strange and L's only adding to it. There's also a religious statue or two behind us, which I'm not terribly happy about. I look past him to the view of the upper levels of Tokyo high-rises until he opens one eye at me, then rocks in his chair so it bounces and he laughs. Please, I'm not that childish, you weird fuck. I turn away back to Mikami and Touta, who are only slightly more socially acceptable, and L must look at Mihael, who mimics him until they both laugh. L's chair squeaks next to me and he's really stupid, but I can't stop smiling because he _is _so stupid, and he's still laughing when he addresses Mikami. "Strange how, after so many years of separation, that your wife decided that you might yet be able to save your marriage after you got back into politics as the Prime Minister's aide, Mikami." Good point.

"Hmmm... I thought the same thing," Mikami agrees. "Hey, have you heard about Finance shagging some journalist from the paper?"

"God, not another one," I sigh. I push my hair back in desperation of being outwardly responsible for what is essentially a band of pubescent children, and my scalp actually hurts. My headache is spreading and becoming a new disease. Why didn't I go into the police force like I was going to? Oh. I remember – the uniforms.

"Which paper?" L asks him.

"Oh, I don't know, they're all the same. Photographed shagging in a field yesterday afternoon."

"In a field?"

"Mmmm. Maize. And with her kid in the car too."

"Oh there's another fucked up individual for the future then. Book the therapist now, I reckon. Sex in a field, eh? I hope they put down a ground sheet first. That's contamination of the nation's food stocks, isn't it?" he asks me in all seriousness, but it's difficult to tell since his face is doing that nondescript thing it does.

"I don't know, do I? My Head of Agriculture is probably fucking in a field himself. Why didn't you know about this?"

"I did," he says. "I let it go. I didn't know about the field, but I knew he was screwing someone or other. I heard whispers. And I couldn't have stopped the papers making the most of a homegrown story anyway. They'll sell out their own. It's wonderful, even if it is a little contrived"

"How am I supposed to give the impression of eradicating sleaze if people won't stop being sleazy?"

"Hmmmm," he nods. "Terrible."

"Well, I'm glad that you didn't stop it, Lawliet," Mikami slurs. That really is gin, isn't it? Fucker. "The photos went well with my morning coffee."

"I was stuck on the story about the suicidal man who was saved from drowning by a group of vagrants on methylated spirits," L says, and I sigh again to be reminded of it.

"I didn't want that story out either."

"Why? Was it too heartwarming for you? I didn't know that you expected me to perform a veto on every news story, regardless of whether it's a political issue or not."

"Vagrancy _is_ a political issue," I tell him. And methylated spirits. And suicide. I'm not sure what isn't a political issue, really.

"You should have seen the back on him," Mikami gasps, like he's just remembered the horror. "I remember it from the sauna. Do you remember, Yagami? His back?"

"Yes, I thought he was wearing a fur coat."

"You've been in a sauna?" L asks me, but Mikami continues before I can answer and paint a nice picture in L's head of me in a towel with a lot of men. Sweating.

"And he was all over this journalist woman. She was holding onto his back hair for grim death."

"Listen, Mikami, I don't want to hear this filth," L says. "Not with the Virgin Mary standing behind me and me in a state of fucking grace. Oooh, hello, what's this?" he veers off suddenly, having seen a man carrying a tray and wearing nothing but rabbit ears and a pair of black shorts with a piece of cotton wool stuck to his backside. Apart from that, his tan is offensive to the eyes. What the fuck am I doing here?

"He's a boy bunny," Touta explains.

"They have boy bunnies here?" L asks. "Excellent. I'll have to come here more often." Yes, do that and I'll cut your bollocks off and feed them to you. He has the absolute worst taste, apart from me of course. I feel so insulted. That rabbit has no style or class.

"Thanks, by the way, Lawliet. Major thanks. I owe you a drink or several one night," Mikami says between swigs of his current drink.

"Oh, it was nothing," L says, waving his hand in irritation and to shoo the reference away like it's a pestering wasp.

"What's this?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"Lawliet stopped a story about Naomi and me. Jeevas, y'know," Mikami explains. Oh! Now that really does surprise me. I wonder if Mikami paid him to do that. "It's great when other people are in the papers, but not so funny when you're in them yourself. I don't know why Naomi married Jeevas in the first place, because he was totally not her type. I'm her type."

"An ex-junkie who gets himself sacked?" L clarifies. "Sounds a lot like Jeevas, only he was less of an ex and he had the sense to die before he was sacked."

"I resigned. And you, my friend, have lost yourself a drink."

"I just seem to remember you being sacked before you resigned, since I was in the room and all and I wrote your resignation letter and statement. The Lady was very disappointed."

Mikami coughs on his drink, which I am now convinced is mostly gin. "Yes, well, The Lady's no lady anymore, is she? The bitch is dead, long live Yagami."

"And thank God for divorce courts," I say, distracted by how square my knee looks when it's folded over the other.

Touta's eyes become large with shock and I feel absolutely nothing. "Really, Light?"

"Mmmm..." Mikami sounds out smoothly. "I agree, but don't tell Naomi."

"What would you say, Light, if someone married for distinctly dishonest and self-serving reasons, such as... for their career, say? Their image," L asks me slyly. "But they're actually in love with someone less photogenic and possibly of the wrong se -"

"I wouldn't know, Lawliet."

"What the hell is with the Lawliet?"

"It's your name," I say. It's also a warning. Don't fuck with me, dearest. "But I don't know what you're talking about. I think you need a good prosecution case to expel all this frustration you obviously have, instead of using me as some pointless, speculative crash dummy. I don't comment on personal intrigues, hypothetical or otherwise."

"No, you wouldn't, of course. The Prime Minister is not available for comment. And this, gentlemen, is a man who loves humanity but not human beings. I feel some... affiliation with that, if that_ is_ the case. Perhaps we have a man here who doesn't believe in love, or at least is very dubious of it. He thinks of it only as a story. Then again, I could be deliberately antagonising you all for the sake of conversation, because as it is, it's incredibly boring."

"You're certainly succeeding if that's your goal, L."

"But you haven't affirmed or denied my statement. I find that interesting."

"Oh? Well, as Prime Minister, it wouldn't look very good if I affirmed it, would it? What kind of person would that make me?"

"A very bad one. Or a very reasonable, logical, inhuman one. But please answer my question. You're in a safe place, surrounded by your loyal subjects, and whatever you say will be taken on as our own beliefs, since you're our lord and saviour. But I reserve the right to think that you're lying if you start preaching on the virtues of love. That would be the Prime Minister talking and not you. Don't make me lose respect for you."

"I don't have any choice then, do I? No, I don't believe in love," I smile cooly with a rod of iron up my spine. My eyes narrow like his as I follow the line from his neck to the sharply jutting angle of his jaw as he sits unsurprised but amused. I realise then that I don't know if I do believe what I say or not. It seems like too much of a despicably stupid excuse for what my gut tells me is more of a merging of souls, which also seems ridiculous now that I think about it. Broken down, it's really a romanticised way of describing someone that you like having sex with and who doesn't make you want to shoot them every time they talk to you. The people of the world can be split into two groups: people you'd sleep with, and people you'd like to see hit by a train. In reality, there's more of the latter. L is an exception, I admit. But then, I have wanted to shoot him and throw him in front of trains several times over the years, and more besides. Sometimes I imagine a fishing hook in his throat. The thin and shining mental curves just under the skin with so little blood, but if I pulled it, it would pull his whole throat out with it. There'd be a gurgling spray of blood for a few beautiful seconds, then I'd wish that I hadn't done it.

I suppose that I'm still adjusting to this strange desire for oneness, completely against my will. That people actually search for it is something I'll never understand. I don't think that it can be defined in a hundred books, but I might look up in the dictionary later.

"Light!" Touta exclaims. Yes, his horror rocks him like a earthquake. Not for the first time, I'm thankful for this cage of thoughts that I have, but sometimes I want to verbalise every thought and let them fly just to see how many stopped hearts it would cause.

"Ha! Light, you're such a liar," L says to me. "I see right through you and you're no carte blanche anymore. But you let it change you, and that's unforgivable. Whoever's responsible should be punished."

I think he mouths 'I love you' to me, but he couldn't have, because he's not even looking at me anymore. I must have imagined it. Fuck B. B stands for Bastard.

Mikami sets his glass on the table and asks me a question which is infested with no interest. "And how is Kiyomi, Yagami?"

"Bulbous is the word." Ooops. I shouldn't have said that.

"Light!"

"Yes, Touta, that's my name."

"Do you know what it is yet?" Mikami says, wiping his nose. "The baby, I mean."

"It's a baby, I'd imagine," L snipes. He'd like to pretend that Kiyomi's carrying a handbag instead. I would too most of time, though it has been useful politically.

"A boy," I answer before I drink my bitter lime. Choosing a tonic water with such a strong quinine content is very hedonistic of me, I feel. I'm really taking my life in my hands.

"Wow! Light!"

"Touta, you've used up all your Lights for today."

"But why haven't you told us?" he asks me. "Soichiro and Sachiko haven't said anything. Shit, Sayu's going to be disappointed. She wanted you to have a girl."

"A boy, eh? Congratulations, Yagami. Two girls in one house would be like, the worst," Mikami sighs.

"Yes. I remember having two women in the house, and though they were outumbered by bastards all, it was still a very inconvenient and temperamental atmosphere. Congratulations, Light. An heir and not an heiress," L says moodily. He lies back again, closes his eyes and thinks of England, presumably.

"Thanks," I grumble back, just as moodily.

"Any ideas on names yet?" Touta asks.

"Kiyomi wanted Rei, after her father, but no."

"A Rei of Light would be the headline," L laughs.

"Yes."

"Oh, I like that," Touta sighs.

"You would, because it's completely idiotic," L says, smirking at Mihael like it's a private joke between them and they're fucking comrades. I wish Mihael would cut his hair and try to look less like he's just stepped off the set of a bondage porno. I also wish he'd contribute more than sucking the chocolate off a Pocky and shoving the unwanted sticks into the grill of the table, but most of all I wish he'd disappear because his presence always makes L very outspoken in company. "Funny how you all have these half-lives outside of this place. I don't have anything like that."

I look at him in confusion and wonder if I imagined that he said that or not. Half a life? 'Both of us are half a person, half a life.'

"Not half-lives, Lawliet," Touta tells him kindly, like he's explaining a complicated theory in as simple a way as possible. "That's life. Work is just something we do."

"Oh. My mistake,"

"Not joking, guys, but life is hard fucking work, isn't it? Partners and stuff. All this 'No sex for you, I'm fucking angry about I don't know what, but you never do anything around the house' shit. Did Naomi do that with you, Yagami?" Mikami asks me, suddenly interested.

"We didn't really have that kind of relationship," I answer. No, we really didn't and for that exact reason. Her wide eyes and bouts of crying would become grating after a while, but in small doses it was like she was crying for the world, and that was very appealing. Plus, Jeevas was around then. Mmmmm... Jeevas. He was party to one of the greatest fucks of my life. When I think of him now, I think of grey smudges of powdered bone on L's white thighs.

"Oh. Just sex, right? See, that's where I went wrong. Hey, you know when you two were on, did she ever do this thing where she -"

"This isn't appropriate, Mikami."

"Right, right," he agrees with me, but he can't contain himself. "She has a photo of you and Penber on the wall. In her bedroom. I wake up and I see you and a dead guy every morning, and you both fucked her and I feel like you're judging me. Like, 'That was a poor performance, Mikami.' You know what I mean?"

"Anyway, to Baby Yagami!" Touta interrupts, and not a moment too soon. "Kanpai!"

I have to explain why I'm not raising my glass with Mikami and Touta. Mihael looks like he's asleep now and L doesn't need to explain why he's not celebrating the gestation of any baby because he's a bastard, but I would be expected to explain myself since it's my baby after all. I want to do it in as few words as possible. I settle upon: "Let's not. It's not born yet."

"What time's the meeting then?" Mikami asks, looking at his watch. Oh, shit, no. I need more time! Touta turns to me with a slightly concerned, unsure look on his face.

"Two o'clock, isn't it, Light?"

Oh, I don't need this. I can feel L glaring at me already, because he doesn't know about the meeting since I purposefully didn't send him the memo. It was a way of creating a escape route in case I did change my mind, and I have. I could have cancelled the meeting and he'd never know, but now Mikami and Touta have blown it. "Does anyone actually have a diary in this place or do you just turn up whenever and hope for the best?"

"So it's at two then?"

"Yes. It's at two, Touta."

"I have a feeling that I'm going to get very upset in a second," L grumbles beside me. "What's this meeting?"

"Light's called a cabinet meeting at two," Touta says excitedly. How he could get excited I don't know, because he's not invited. He's only a civil servant.

"We know it's at two now, Matsuda," Mikami tells him,

"A cabinet meeting?" L tries to clarify, directing his question at Touta because he's the most likely to answer without L having to resort to cross-examination. Oh God. "A sort of sirens blaring, emergency sort of cabinet meeting?"

"Bill proposal, I think. Got the memo somewhere. Didn't you get the memo?"

"A _bill_ proposal?" L repeats. "There are a lot of memos I don't get, I think." He slumps back in the chair with his arms crossed, so I reach for my drink because I'm going to need it, but I wish there was gin in it.

"I thought you'd be there, but I guess PR isn't that important," Touta says cheerfully. If it wasn't him saying it then it would sound sarcastic, but he really doesn't think that PR is very important. L usually finds it funny, but not right now. I'm going to have to pull a good excuse out of the bag here and avoid the truth at all costs.

"Ha! No, not important, no hahahahahahahaha," L laughs in a manic and forced way, stopping abruptly to glare at me again.

"I think I'll... um… get some lunch," I tell them as I stand. Yes, I'm going to run away, but I'm stuck to the spot. I should take L to one side and lie profusely to get myself out of this shit. My guard stood when I did and now looks very stupid a few tables away, staring at me like he fell in love at first sight.

"Stuff your face, Light. Fill your boots," L says in clipped tones.

"It's just a meeting, Lawliet," Mikami tells him. Touta also joins in with the consoling of L.

"Yeah, I'm sure you can drop in, if you really want to."

"Oh, yes. That'd be lovely," he agrees. "I'd love to see how this whole politics thing works because it's completely mystifying to me."

"It is to me too sometimes, but it gets easier," Touta confesses. Despite having known L for nearly five years, Touta still is oblivious to L's sarcasm and doesn't spot signs which are as big and bright and easy to spot as a toxic waste warning. L looks at him in silence for a long moment, and we all look like we're a film on pause.

"Did someone drop you on the head when you were a baby?" L asks him. Matuda looks very offended, unsurprisingly, although I've often considered that possibility, myself.

"L's been to a lot of cabinet meetings, Touta," I say.

"I've been to a lot of cabinet meetings and a lot of disciplinaries," L continues sulkily. "I think I know everything there is to know about politics, and most of it is excrement and putrefaction, Matsuda."

"Putrefaction?"

"Yes, and conniving, backstabbing, lying, secretive, patronising, demanding, bent as a nine bob note politicians."

"Bent as a what?"

"A nine bob note. They're very bent. One in particular."

"Thank you, L, but I think that's enough from you and your charming colloquialisms," I say hurriedly. "Do you want to help me get another round of drinks?"

"He's so bent, Uri Geller would have a job straightening him out," he tells Touta.

"Who's Uri -"

"You couldn't straighten him out with a sledgehammer and an anvil. You could run him over and he'll just spring back, bent as anything."

"Who?"

"Him," L says, pointing at me.

"You can't say that about Light. He's our Prime Minister."

"Gracious, I forgot. I hope he doesn't give me another disciplinary because of my terrible behaviour which is pointing out the _fucking_ obvious!" he shouts. I can't avoid this because he'll find me eventually even if I do run away now, and if I run away, it'll just make the situation worse. I have a right to have a meeting without him being notified. It's not essential that he should be there, but I wouldn't want to try to tell him that. I attempt to look as calm as possible as I confront the issue and sit down again.

"L, I did mean to tell you. Obviously you're invited."

"Oh, well, thank you, but I suspect that you were going to tell me about the meeting _after_ the meeting, that is if you were going to tell me at all. And _that_, I have to tell you, Light, is what I a hundred percent think. It's a fact. But, no, PR isn't important. I'm just here for scenery and to make up the numbers, so it's not important that I know about this emergency cabinet meeting which will probably be mentioned to the press because, as we've established, since I'm Press Relations, I'm not important. Thank you, Matsuda!"

"I think I'm going to get some... crêpes," Mikami says awkwardly. He throws some notes on the table as he stands up, and he's a fucking coward.

"I'd love a crêpe but I'm not important enough," L sulks.

"I'll get you a crêpe, Lawliet."

"No, really, crêpes are for important people."

Mikami drags Touta away with him and salutes me as they leave. Mihael's still asleep, but I think this might be one of those empty and guarded bathroom conversations L and I should have which ends with me going down on him.

"What's so funny?" L asks me, and it's then that I realise that I'm sniggering to myself.

"You."

"Fuck off. And to think I played camera football with you this morning. I really regret not biting your tongue off."

"It's a bill."

"I'm not paying your bill, you can forget it."

"No, the meeting is about a bill."

"Yes, a bill, so I've heard, but you haven't told me about it."

"It was supposed to be a surprise, but I see that wasn't a good idea now."

"I knew you were up to something! When you kept saying that you had to work, you were actually working, weren't you?!"

"I do work, you know."

"No you don't!"

"I do, L."

"This is news to me. All Prime Ministers do is waltz around and visit places and talk about fuck all. What's this bill then?"

"It's for you. I'm running it past the party first but then it'll go through the House and you'll know how serious I am."

"Oh, your swan song?" he asks, immediately soppy as a sponge in a bucket of water. That was easy, but now I'll have to go through with this meeting.

"Penultimate, yes," I say.

"You should have told me. We could have had sex," he says softly. God, I hope that Mihael really is asleep.

"I only decided this morning, but there is payment due on your account now, Mr Lawliet. No, I didn't want you to know until the meeting. I was going to tell you about it myself, not through a memo. And you won't like the bill and you'll tell me that I'm stupid and I wanted to avoid that."

"I wouldn't tell you that you were stupid. Is it lofty?"

"You might think so."

"Perfect. The loftier, the better. The bill might be stupid but I don't care, Light."

"I know. And you are important. We're the most important people in the world. Just us."

"Just us," he repeats after me. "Oh, you're very gifted. You made me go from wanting to kill to wanting to kiss you within two minutes. That's unheard of."

"You can kill in more ways than one."

"Mmm. You didn't mention that Kiyomi's having a boy."

"It's a spoiler, isn't it? And it doesn't matter."

"You know, I find your aforementioned lack of humanity to be infinitely attractive."

"A lack of humanity is not my problem. Stop looking at me like that."

"I know, it's awful. And poor Stephen crying himself to sleep."

"He won't say anything will he?"

"I very much doubt it. He wouldn't want me on his bad side. Besides, he's the kind who likes proof and I think, with our talents, that we can prevent him from finding proof. Light, I was thinking. Perhaps it would be a good idea if I spoke to him. Properly, I mean."

"Keep him hanging on, you mean," I say. I must sound angry and hurt and jealous and a lot of other things by the suggestion, because I can't be seen to approve of it, but I was thinking earlier that it would be a good idea if L was to find anything out of the investigation. Stephen's out of the way now, which is perfect, but if L could keep him thinking that there's a tiny hope of a reconciliation in return for honesty, then he might suddenly find that he knows more about Wedy than he thought he did. Desperation makes people do stupid things.

"No, but it might be a good idea. Maybe I could convince him that if he joined the CIA again..." Oh, L. Your mind is only a step behind mine.

"Do you really think he would?" I ask innocently.

"He left because I asked him to. Can't have an employee of the government fraternising with the CIA, can we? I'm sure I could make him retract his resignation and find something out about Wedy. They were very sorry to see him go."

"As long as it doesn't interfere with anything. Things are complicated enough as they are."

"I agree. Don't tell me that you don't love it though."

"A potential murder charge? Yes. I love it."

"But isn't it exciting, Light?"

"A little bit, maybe."

"Did you do it?" he whispers with bated breath. We should go to the bathroom and lock the door.

"What?"

"Did you kill her?"

"Mr Lawliet, I'm surprised at you. And we have no time for any of _that_. I have to change my suit for something more sombre."

"Nnnn... Well, give me this bill then," he says, leering at me. I reason that this is acceptable because he's a known lech to the point of ridicule and that even I, the Prime Minister and a slightly personal friend, am not off-limits. My marriage protects me from everything, but I lean away from him anyway in case anyone does see, but I don't think he takes offence. He slaps Mihael on his stomach then, actually very near his dick. What the fuck is that about? "Wake up, blondie."

"Go away," Mihael groans, muddled with sleep.

"We miss your exciting conversation."

"Funny," he says, closing his eyes again. "It was your exciting conversation which made me go to sleep. What time is it?"

"One."

"Wake me at twenty five past."

"Hard night?" L asks, looking at him in a similar way to how my mother looks at me. You'd think that he'd adopted him or something.

"I prefer to sleep during the day."

"As you can imagine," L says, turning back to me, "he makes a wonderful, hard-working PA."

"I think that we better go, actually. There's too much exploitation here."

"I thought that you liked exploitation, Light. Well, I like it here. It's like a biblical place which is going to feel the wrath of God soon."

"Oh, L," Mihael says unexpectedly, "you left your phone at the office. Your friend called. The weird one."

"That's not very specific."

"I left a memo on your desk."

"Ok, but who was it?"

"I can't remember! I wrote a fucking memo, L, I'm not your secretary!" Mihael spits at him, sounding very awake now. Shame.

"God, Mihael. You're my personal assistant but you don't assist me at all. All you do is strut around, which I have to admit was entertaining for the first couple of days, but now you have to do some hard work, son. Anyway, you shouldn't answer my phone."

"Hold on, you just said that I should have remembered the message, so you must have been ok with me answering the phone, but now you're saying that I shouldn't have answered your phone?"

"I'm _saying_ that you shouldn't have answered my personal phone, but you did because you're a nosey shit. It wasn't interesting enough for you, so you forget the message. What use are you to me?"

"Why don't you remember your phone and take your own messages?"

"It's my prerogative if I remember my phone or not. My whole family could have died. I'd like to know. It would really cheer me up."

"I think I'd remember the message if your family had died, L," Mihael says condescendingly, tilting his head to one side and sitting up for whatever scuffle they're having.

"Don't talk back to me!"

"I'll fucking well talk back to you, you self-important twat."

"At least I'm not wearing a coat made of cats," L says. It's a very good point. Mihael's coat reminds me of a well-groomed Siamese.

"It's not made of cat. What cats have you seen that look like this coat?"

"Wild ones. You could go to prison for that. They're endangered and protected by law."

"It's not made of a fucking wild cat. You're stupid."

"I'm getting another drink," I say, but no hears me, or at least, they don't let on that they did or that it matters.

"That's it. You're fired," L tells him.

"Fuck you, I quit."

"You can't quit. I fired you first, you idiot blond. Has the bleach seeped into your..."

I make my way back inside, and my guard catches up with me to lift the roped barrier at the entrance of the roof garden to allow me to pass. People actually part like the proverbial sea as I walk towards the bar. That might have something to do with them knowing who I am, though I doubt it. None of them look like the kind of people who watch the news or know how to read. It might be because I had an exfoliating facial last week, or it might be because of the large monolith of a man with a gun behind me. Either way, I'm practically there when the crowd move aside to confront me with two people having sex on top of bar. I don't think this is right at all, considering the time of day, and I will voice my official disapproval by ignoring it completely. My guard doesn't take the initiative to break it up, and I'm not sure that he could from the look of things, so he ignores it too. Everyone ignores it, so I suppose that it must happen all the time. Looking at the fuckathon out of the corner of my eye, the woman looks a bit like Kiyomi and the man looks a bit like L, but I can't see that clearly and I can't make it obvious that I'm looking. As my drink arrives, the woman's leg extends suddenly and the heel of her shoe knocks my glass over, so I have to wait again until I can get out of this situation. I will close this place down after my meeting. The cuff of my jacket is soaking wet.

So I get my drink and walk back to the roof garden, looking and feeling as unaffected as possible. It reminds me of when I was an aide in Culture and then a deputy in Transport and therefore didn't matter, when I'd see that kind of thing all the time. I remember once when, back in the day, I went to a party. It was house party but it was in a really big house. We had to wear masks, so it was one of those parties. I wore a skull mask; a white skull. L was an abstract crow or something. He saw me just as I saw him and we knew. Couldn't see each other's faces, but we knew. That was a good night. Anyway, he didn't know that I was going to be there and I didn't know that he was going, so we were strangers. Only we knew. Point is, if I wasn't there, he would have found someone else. Someone less. He'd go with anything because he's just like B said. B. I wish I could tell him this now. At least I always had a reason, like with L for example. I did him because he promised me press, but I didn't know what I was getting into. I suppose that happens. But him, God. If I saw B now, I'd tell him that even if he wore a mask and L didn't know it was him, he still wouldn't pick him. That's B's tragedy. I imagine that it must be painful to be in love with someone for nearly thirty years and for them never to see you in the way you want to be seen. We all have to stay within our groups though, don't we? Our tiers of perfection. L outranks B, and I outrank L and everyone else, but when you get to my level you have to lower yourself sometimes. B knows it. He hates him for it and hates me too. He hates that L's never looked at him apart from one time when he was drunk. Ha. I don't think that'll ever stop being funny to me.

I get back to the table and I'm surprised that Mihael and L aren't tearing each other's hair out or signing termination of employment contracts. In fact, they both look very peaceful and upper class in their loungers, if you could disregard Mihael's clothing. Perhaps they look more like a wealthy client and his rentboy. I sit back down in the middle of L relating some tale of deep profundity.

"... so I said that was very nice, but I'm not really into kinbaku. I do know how to do a sheepshank knot but I hadn't done that since the Scouts."

"I'm not sure how I'd feel about being tied up," Mihael comments. This day is full of surprises. I thought he'd be a dab hand at that shit.

"Well, yes. Quite. I had my wrists tied once, but it was more of an accident. My hands got caught in the man's hair," L informs him. "You have to trust the person tying you up, that's the problem. _You_ look like the trustworthy sort, apart from when you have to take messages."

"I said that I'd left you a fucking message. What would you prefer me to do? Tattoo it on my hand?"

"Yes, Mihael. Tattoo my messages on your hand and wear your leather and your dead cat and buy an old Guns and Roses t-shirt so you can look like even more of a hipster cunt."

"Arrrr -"

"I want to go," I say so L notices that I'm there. If I expected a look of love and relief that I've returned then I would be disappointed.

"Why? Where have you been? Why didn't you get us a drink?"

"You were fighting."

"No we weren't," L says.

"People are fucking on the bar. We have to go," I mutter calmly like a Soviet spy. I'll call in the rest of security and have everyone's phones taken and checked for damaging images of me near anything sexual. I'll be smuggled out the back and deny everything. I'll have L wrangle a complete media blackout and I'll close this place down.

"Wha!?" Mihael screeches and rushes off before I have a chance to answer. He returns quickly but slouching and tell me that no one's having sex on the bar and that it's mean to get someone's expectations up like that.

"Well, they were. Just now," I say. Mihael scoffs and L just stares at me. He doesn't believe me, and what's worse is that he looks worried like he did this morning. He thinks I'm mad. "They were, L," I say again, sounding like I'm pleading.

"I believe you," he says, totally unconvincingly.

"I have to go. There must be another way out of here that we can - oooofff!"

I'm nearly knocked off my feet as I stand up, and I realise that some stupid bitch in a bunny outfit has walked into me. This could not get worse, but then L starts shouting at the bunny.

"Hey, watch it, sweetheart. Bump into your own bloke."

"What's your problem?" some enormous suit asks him. He towers over L and me with violence dripping from every pore, and I didn't think they made suits that large. I don't think the vertical stripes are creating any illusion. "Don't speak to my rabbit like that!"

"You can fuck off too," L says. "Her sense of balance is shit."

"Lawliet?" the suit asks him. What?

"Oh, fuck, it's you."

"Pretty boys you've got here. Had the trip wires out near the public toilets again, have we?"

"Excuse me, he's the Prime Minister!" L says, horrified, though probably not on my behalf. I'm not a pretty boy! I'm handsome. Devastatingly so, according to SakuraTV, but who listens to those twats? "How do you not know who the Prime Minister of the country is?"

"TV's on the blink. Well, whatever. Just tell him to mind my rabbit, yeah?"

"Don't side with a rabbit with fucked equilibrium over your Prime Minister. You've probably only just groped her. She's walking into people all over the place like she's in a pinball machine. She's probably off her tits."

"Let's go," I tell L quietly. The last thing I need is more attention drawn to myself, and now L's just told some massive idiot with a rabbit exactly who I am. I might as well do a live conference about sexism from here with women in bunny suits hand feeding me wine and grapes.

"I'm not off my tits! I've only had one drink," the rabbit argues in an incredibly high-pitched voice which reminds me of Misa just before she started crying, and L turns on her as well.

"Then you should watch where you're fucking well going. He could sue you for grievous bodily harm and for being drunk and disorderly."

Oh no, this is getting out of control. Why can't he shut up? Where's my guard? He's nowhere to be seen! "I'm not going to sue any -"

"I didn't even touch him!" the rabbit shouts.

"Maybe, but you did touch him."

"See you at the office!" Mihael calls over as he leaves like another coward.

"Are you saying that she was after him?" the suit asks L. My God, he's a big man.

"That's your conclusion based on a gut instinct and I think that you should take notice of it and not put your cock anywhere near this rabbit without double bagging. I also think that she might need a CT scan."

"Fucking queers. Let's go," the suit says to the rabbit.

"You always were a dick, Kirino," L tells him. "No wonder that your firm is... what? Slipping in reputation, shall we say? I want your full name and address so I can sue you too. Both of you. Do you have latent sexual issues you haven't dealt with yet?"

"Why do you have to threaten someone with court action everywhere we go?" I ask L.

"I'm sorry that I bumped into you," the bunny says to me.

"It's ok."

"I like your suit. It's very business-like."

"Thanks. I... like your bunny outfit," I reply, struggling for something to throw back.

"You don't think the corset's a bit too much?" she asks, heaving it back up with a hefty tug. "It's the uniform but, I don't know about it."

"No, it's very Playboy."

"Do you think?!"

"Yeah, it's nice. I like your tail."

"Thanks! Would you like a drink and a blow?"

"Ok, we're going now," L says.

"Yeah, so are we," the suit agrees, dragging the rabbit off.

"What are you doing chatting up a rabbit?" L asks me.

"I wasn't."

"You don't even realise you're doing it, do you?"

"I think she meant a line when she said blow."

"No, she didn't. Would you have let that rabbit blow you?"

"No!"

"Because you're married. You've got one of them."

"I know."

"And she's got your spawn in her oven. Why are you so greedy?"

"I'm not!"

"You complimented her tail."

"I was only being nice."

"Agh!" he growls like a pirate while he picks up his coat from the arm of his chair.

"I was not chatting up a rabbit. Let's go."

"You like her _fucking_ tail," he says, tossing some notes of the table. "You're such a slut. I mean, I was right there!"

"Shut up, L."

"As your PR man I have to warn you against chatting up rabbits or anything else. I don't know why I'm surprised. The morning after I met you, I asked you how you wanted your eggs and you said 'fertilised.' Then you said 'legs over easy.' I mean, what was I thinking? You're a degenerate."

"Heh. Yeah, that was funny."

"It wasn't funny. You have a mouth like a docker. I was a nice man before I met you."

"Pffff..."

"I was. Everyone thought so. I used to go to church and wear velvet blazers."

"God, stop it."

"Why?"

"Well, the idea is stupid, but I like velvet anyway. Velvet and churches and you," I sigh just before my guard reaches us. Then we say nothing as he guides us out of the building through the kitchens and out onto a back street. Obviously we can't possibly find our way out of a building ourselves. My car's waiting and we sit in the back, with L passing notes to me about something completely different to what he's talking about, which is more political in nature. It's too late to cancel the meeting now.

* * *

I went through the motions of preparing for the meeting and thought of suddenly feeling ill. I've never been ill enough to miss even the most uneventful day of work, apart from when my face looked like a cherry flan, but perhaps today is that day. The clock ticks on the wall and becomes the loudest, most obnoxious sound in the world, and I think that maybe what should happen will pass me by untouched. I'll blink and it'll be six o'clock and I can get into L's car and leave all these fuckers to rot.

But I hear the door to my office open and my eyes flash towards the sound, but I stay still apart from that, standing in front of the window and the permanently stained grey skies.

"If you have any phlegm in your throat please cough it up now," L's voice tells me. Of course he's thrilled with expectation. His ego is probably doing cartwheels. "Why aren't you wearing your jacket? You're in there in five minutes."

"I think I might postpone," I say dully. He understands me and is silent for a moment, but decides to wrench a confession out of me anyway.

"Why? You've never postponed."

"I don't think it's ready."

"It's not a cake, Light."

"I have a headache."

"Have a painkiller," he suggests, sounding more bitter and cold with every word he says. He stands in front of me now, and instead of skies, I see the grey of his jacket, a pure white shirt, a starched collar, a slicing blue tie, the movement of his throat when he speaks.

"I'm not happy with it. The bill."

"You mean because you have two wishes left and you want to make sure that they're good ones?"

"No. Well, yes."

"If you cancel this, I'll be very angry," he says slowly.

"I'm not cancelling it, I want to postpone. I need to rewrite my speech and look over the proposal again -"

"Rewrite it? What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing."

"Then it's the bill you want to postpone and not your speech."

"No. I... There are a few things I want to double check. Get some other opinions."

"When have you ever wanted someone else's opinion?"

"I need expert opinions to back it up, L. It's important."

"Is it now?" he whispers, more like a hiss of air. He steps closer towards me and for moment I think that he'll just give me this grace of time, even though I know that he won't. I know and he knows and we speak and dance around my excuses until he boxes me in. And now he's so close to me that I think he might just hold me and say that it's ok, he trusts me, I just need more time, I've had a hard day; but he doesn't. I should expect some violence and I'm not shocked when it comes. He squeezes my balls hard through my trousers suddenly and I fall towards him, my hand instinctively grips his arm and my forehead rests on his shoulder, saving me from falling. And he stands completely straight, holding me up and controlling me with a firm hand.

I'm so furious and it simmers, masked by nature telling me to let him do it, let him carry on, hope that he carries on. This is an ideal relationship because it doesn't involve Interflora. It's not bored contentment like with Kiyomi, it's this brutality and fierceness; love and hate sharing a house. But he doesn't do anything more, just holds the pressure there while he speaks clearly and low and as firmly as his hand forces pain and longing and sharp, stuttering breaths from me

"I didn't watch you come all this way for so long for you to fuck it up now. You're going to go in there and give me what you promised me."

I don't answer, because I can't bring myself to take it what he's saying. I hear him speaking but I can't hear an order, I just hear a his voice and the heaving sound of air leaving my lungs. That I don't answer makes him squeeze harder and I grunt against his shoulder and bite my teeth together.

"Light."

"Y...es"

"Don't be frightened. You lead, they follow. Don't be frightened."

"I'm... not."

"Good," he says, and lets me go to put that same cruel hand on my face to smooth his thumb across my chin. "You don't hear me sometimes. Don't overthink it, because you've made the decision already. Just do it."

"Fortune favours the brave," I breathe out.

"Yes. Fortune, not fear."

I raise my head to kiss his shoulder, but I don't know why. I feel exhausted by something that barely happened, and maybe thankful that he stopped. But then I remember the realities of what will happen if I go in that room and say what he wants me to say.

"My speech -"

"Your speech will be fine."

"I'll split the party, L."

"Then split it. If you lose conviction, they'll see it. Split the party and buy them back," he tell me like it's that simple. Maybe it is. God, he's like Kiyomi.

"But -"

"I don't care what this bill is or whether you split the party or not, just do it. Then there's one more bill left. Kiyomi will spit out your bastard child, you put through one more bill and then that's it."

"I know."

"If you back down now then I'll find Stephen and I'll fuck him so hard that you will feel it. Do you want me to do that, Light?"

"No. I'm not backing down."

"I've given up a lot for you and you're stalling over this?"

"I'm not."

"You promised me a storm and the end, or was it a lie in kindness?"

"It wasn't a lie."

"One more bill?"

"One more."

"Well then," he whispers before he presses a kiss on my head. "Straighten yourself out, Prime Minister."

* * *

And something has changed in me. It's not L's bullying, or Kiyomi, or B, or anything to do with this fuckawful day. I won't give any of them credit. I thought that I might have to drag the bill from myself like pulling a tooth, but it wasn't anything like that. As people's jaws start dropping, I care less. My bill proposal is thought unpopular and as ridiculously aspirational as flying to the moon by only flapping my arms. I want to tear down and rebuild not only the justice system, but to cure it at the grass roots. This first bill is the start of it, and the second bill should finish it. The meeting becomes rowdy as people rage together against it. The expense, and the work which would be involved makes them cling almost unanimously to the lazy, easy lives they have known. All they see is that I'm proposing to load them with paperwork and full working hours. My immediate instinct is to exploit their vulnerabilities to a sadistic extent, like a predator hunting wounded prey because they are so weak, and without them knowing, bend them to do what I want. But now I want purity. I want to appeal to them, not force them. I will force them if they don't submit, but I think that everyone deserves the opportunity to make the right decision, even if I have to force it from them. Because if they believe in this half as much as I do, I don't need corruption to kill corruption. Besides, it will show the good and the bad to me, which will be useful. So I sit and stare at my hands folded calmly on my lap and with a slight smile on my face as the crescendo of voices rise, because I'm listening. When I speak, I will be the one calm voice. Then it comes. Someone - I don't know who - asks me what this means. Why am I proposing such change for a party which is known for its history of mild, useless measures, you mean?

"What great or noble work could we achieve if we think it enough? I see that some of you expect some rousing speech to make up your minds for you, but you won't get that from me. I want you to make up your own minds. There's no tangible prize and glory as the outcome, and none of you will personally feel any benefit from the bill I want pass, except in the knowledge that you will improve lives for others. It is a selfless goal. I go into this knowing that I will split the party. Some of you will never support me again. Those of you can stay and those can go as you see fit, but those who go will, in time, be envious of those who stayed with me. Take a firm step forward, as firm as your principles. I think some of you need to find your principles again. Be impartial. Be as gods. See what is right and follow it towards resolution. We are the law makers and in our hands are the possibilities of humanity. As it stands, we allow these wrongs to be carried out in our name and under our authority when we have the power to alter the course and prevent these crimes. We could create a better world for the people we represent. The cause is no legacy we inherited; we inherited a legacy of passivity from previous governments, and I do not want to repeat that. We are all guilty. We cannot blame others for what we had the opportunity to change. Let's not affix blame to others, for we, ourselves, allowed this to happen.

"Acceptance is the enemy, selfishness and fear of change is the barricade. Those before us could no more ignore what has happened than if they had been blind. We must see with our eyes open and observe the suffering and injustice and hear the stories, for no two are the same, and find the answers. That is our purpose, and I think we've lost that. We must find ways to ensure that no single person ever suffers again in this country. This is a social sickness which has grown and spread for years, decades, perhaps for all of time. I don't accept that it's endemic in the human soul; only guidance and provision is needed. It won't be instantly resolved by the passing of one bill, not even in our term here in government, but it is a step which will one day find an end. I blame no one. Not one person, not one group of people. It is cowardice to think that enough has been done and that we can do no more but continue the status quo, for what we could do is too great a task. It _is_ a great task, but it is no useless endeavour. No one weak in spirit has ever won anything. We should never be satisfied that we have done enough, for there will always be need for change. We should not turn from it. I want extreme goodness. I want to work for some ideal which, one day, I will be proud that I had some small hand in and that I lived in these times. Empathy is the source of humanity and without it we cannot understand or hope to change. Dedicate yourself to humanity, or else leave this building. We would be inhuman ourselves. This is a moment of change. You are in this room at the start of a new era. Be proud."

And I think that'll do. It's not the truth exactly, but it'll do. Truth is, I'm tied to them by democracy. If I had my own way, then I wouldn't need to make speeches and coerce people into agreeing with me with nice words and battle cries; I'd just do it alone and let my work speak for itself. So many people stand in my way and keep my fingertips just out of reach from perfection.

They leave in consternation, thoughtless and selfish, until I'm left with only L sitting far away from the table like he's only a bystander. The door closes and he stands to turn a key and lock us into this emptiness. I've never felt so false and yet so honest. I feel like a sword fight.

"You. Sit in my lap."

He smiles like he was expecting me to say that, but I don't think that he should be commended for that prophecy. He dutifully walks to me and straddles me, still wearing the same ghost of a smile. We both watch my hand run up the length of his thigh, and it sounds like a long breath of air. I think that this was all worth it; this day. I didn't back down, I just had a moment of crisis, and maybe it was subconscious so I could see how he'd react. A bit of cruelty sustains me, especially when dealt by him. I have never been weak.

"I was wondering if you want this out before the bill is read in the House, because I don't know if I can control what the press get hold of on this one," he says. "Some of them seem very angry. If your own party don't support it, what hope do you have there?"

"What do you think of it?" I ask.

"The bill or your sudden desire to alienate yourself from your own party?"

"The bill."

"I thought that your great work was to change the justice system. You said that you wanted to take away the right of appeal for murderers and have them executed within a week of judgement, replacing lay judges with people of your choosing, extending the death penalty to other crimes, only, no, you wouldn't put it like that, but that kind of thing. This is quite a U-turn. How long have you been working on this?"

"A few months."

"I didn't think that you could come up with something more unpopular, but now you have."

"Tell me what you think."

"It's good. Therefore it won't work."

"It will."

"With _your_ Cabinet?" he laughs.

"We'll see. I'm giving it one last chance, otherwise I'll force it through at the cost of myself," I say, and I could almost believe it. My voice is a silken sash you don't realise is strangling you. It's currently strangling L.

"Tell me what I can do to help you."

"I don't think that I need PR for this. This is mine," I say solemnly. Yes, like a sacrificial lamb. L's finger hooks inside the knot of my tie and loosens it, and he watches that with cool observation while I look at him with anything but.

"Does God still speak through you?" he asks me.

"No, I am God. I'm God with a new name.

* * *

**A/N** I promise I'll get to plot soon but I always liked a slow descent in super crazy rather than super shock pow CRAZY in one paragraph. Maybe one more chapter of sex obsessed/crazy/horrible (which I'll try to post very soon so this is more of a double update. IDK, it's turning into a day in the life of Light) to leave the way clear for the dreaded plot which has been upsetting my brain since September. Then the end.

Disclaimer: I think there are at least two Coral Browne quotes in this because she was so funny. Light's political speech was just the bashed out typical bobbins politicians say to make themselves sound righteous and wise. Also stole some bits from actual speeches but I can't remember which ones, sorry. This is a bad disclaimer.

Really quick LxLight fic rec for 'Nights' by youremyqueen (on ao3) or freezedryedgorgeous on ffn. It's just really good, really well written and actually canonically based, unlike this insult to all that is holy. Her L is such a sod and I love him to bits.


	23. Into The Un-Magnificent Lives Of Adults

**A/N** Yet another horrible installment and it's very long. There should be warnings all over this but we're getting around that. I'm going to slow up on updates now because it's the final haul and I'm panicking about what I'm going to do after this is finished. I have zippo ideas and I'm going to miss these bastards something rotten.

Big thanks to certain people who should know who they are, and I'm on a twelve-step review addiction program because reviews are all gold and appreciated so much. Oooh, and there are two new mixes on my profile by lovely people. Gah! A needless disclaimer will be on my tumblr. Love to all. xxx

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Into The Un-Magnificent Lives Of Adults  
**

* * *

It's a strange feeling to be alone in someone else's house. If I didn't have a conscience, I suppose this must be what it feels like to be a hitman waiting for his victim to come home. Knowing that there are no guards around makes me feel very vulnerable, and that makes me realise how much I hate being dependant on their brand of comfort. I'm not officially AWOL and I'm sure that someone _is_ watching the house. A car with tinted windows is parked outside and I keep checking on it from one of the upstairs windows which has a view of the road. It might be paparazzi or it might be a crazy who wants to kill me, but I don't want to phone security incase I appear paranoid. I don't trust anyone on my security team, even before one of them disclosed my location to a journalist. I don't make their jobs easy for them, so I doubt their loyalty, but I have their respect. They're not paid a high enough hourly wage to be loyal and I don't hide my resentment of their presence when they are around. I suppose that I should try to be nicer to them and pat them on the head every so often for being good guard dogs. Kiyomi sent them all bottles of wine at New Year but I didn't notice any improvement in their attitudes. They're very ungrateful, really.

L took B with him so he could attempt to be a decent host and friend, but more likely, it was to get him away from me. Last night, B expected us sit through a documentary called _Psychiatry: An Industry of Death._ I sighed next to L for ten minutes in my gulf of depression, because a little bit of patience always pays off when you make sure that people notice that you're being patient. L's pleased with how I'm dealing with B because he knows that he's 'difficult'. I said that it was nice that he has his very good friend over. I'm happy for him, yes. B can stay as long as he likes, yes. L suggested that we should have an early night instead of watching the documentary with B. There are quite a few rooms and closed doors between the lounge and L's bedroom, and I didn't want B to labour under the illusion that we were sleeping. I screamed my fucking head off.

I walk from one room to another with intent, hoping to find locked drawers and secrets. B had locked his bedroom door, which is to be expected from such a distrusting little shit. I found a spare set of keys in L's desk though, so it didn't do him much good to underestimate me. If I was B, I would have taken better precautions. I was excellent at chemistry and physics at school and dabbled in pyrotechnic devices.

In any case, I don't know why he bothered to lock his room. There's nothing of any interest in there, apart from a journal which is coded using a very weak symmetric-key algorithm, and there was nothing in that which I didn't already know or wish I didn't know. Most of it was about psychiatric disorders and shopping lists. I did find what amounts to a small pharmaceutical dispensary in a very studious looking leather bag. Mikami and Jeevas would have thought that they'd found the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

And I found some things of Stephen's, of course. Some of the clothes in L's room are of very bad quality and are too substantial to be his, so they must be Stephen's. I'm surprised that he has quite so many clothes, since they're all essentially duplicates of the same boring t-shirts, jeans and badly-tailored spy suits in the same cut and colours. His intention must be to blend in but he wouldn't have a clue how to dress anyway, the stupid twink. His Rive Gauche suit would look excellent on me if I had it altered. It's cataclysmic that he owns it. If I was a lesser man, I cry. I'd rather see it burn on a barbecue than let it be worn by someone like him. I thought about packing all his shit up as a gesture of good will and to get him the fuck this house once and for all, but I decided against it. He's also made some kind of scrapbook which I thought belonged to a manic middle-aged woman at first. It's full of receipts (what the fuck?), ticket stubs and annotated photographs of what I presume must be his revolting family, and some of the moron himself with L in various settings, but always with the same inane, forced smile which comes from awareness of the camera. I perfected the ability to make even the most staged of photographs look candid years ago, but looking back, I don't think that I ever had a problem with it. After I've been through the nauseous scrapbook and the loose papers and photos inside, I toss the whole lot into a suitcase. If I didn't think that I could find anything better to do, I'd probably painstakingly cut L out of the photographs just to pass the time.

The house is artificially lit, even though it's the middle of the day, and it gives me a headache. All the blinds must be closed wherever I am unless I'm officially supposed to be there. I can't seem to settle in this house, and this is a premonition of sorts for after I've left politics, I guess. L in Tokyo with no repercussions. Everything will be better for him. He will have the kudos of snagging a PM and making me leave my job and family for him, while I'll be jobless, useless, friendless, scorned by everyone, a joke for the international media and stuck in this house. I don't like being idle, but there's an atmosphere of agitation here which I'm positive is because of B. He's like an old woman who's long gone but leaves her strong stench of lavender behind. Eventually, I go back into L's room and find B's penknife in a drawer - the one L used to slash Jeevas' tyres. My thumb rubs over the length and delicate curves of the wooden handle which has been smoothed down to an almost sea-worn sheen from decades of palms glossing over the surface. The crudely carved and childishly coloured in letter B in the wood looks more ridiculous that I remember. Then I have a bath. I've already had a shower but I really have searched this whole house for things of interest, so I sit in a bath of water and salt crystals, smoke a cigarette, and flick the blade of B's knife up and down until I almost hypnotise myself. Not a thought goes through my head, and when I come back again, my fingertips are wrinkled and ugly.

When L and B return just after five, I must look like I haven't moved all day. By now, I feel like I own this house - I own it and I hate it – so to have a psychiatrist and a lawyer invade this space and my silence with their cackling shit is very irritating to me. Neither of them say anything and I don't welcome them back, I only watch them like a ghost as they carry in Comme des Garçons and bookshop bags. Don't tell me that B is sinking into retail therapy. I imagine him trying on the 'Poor King' collection and coming out of the changing room to show L various pyjama and frock coat ensembles, like a peacock who's trying too hard to be quirky and individualistic. He's supposed to be a fucking professional.

If L wants a king above all men then he's found one already. I'm the people's emperor with golden eyes; why would he look at B when I'm around? Oh. He looks nearly adequate in that coat. As I watch B trying the coat on for no reason other than to show off - like I'd be jealous of it, like I'd wear _that_ - L asks me how my day was. I don't know what he could think that I've been doing, locked in his house. At first, I think that I should defend myself, although he hasn't accused me of anything. Sometimes I forget that other people can't hear the thoughts in my head too, since they're so loud. They have to shriek and push and shove against all the other ones to be heard.

'Yes, I'm fine. I've had a well-deserved break,' I tell him. 'No, I'm not going to see Kiyomi today.' She needs to learn that I turn hot and cold like a fucked up tap and she should treat me with respect if she knows what's good for her. I have one of L's divorce lawyers pre-booked and she's lucky that I'm staying around long enough to support her through her pregnancy. I trusted her. Bitch. 'Oh, nothing. I've been reading about conflict in geo-strategic flash points across the Eurasian land mass, the purpose of which is to stop unification and subsequently enable global hegemony of the superpowers. Yes, it's very interesting.'

Behind me, L reads his post, talks to B, eats a cream cake and rolls a piece of my damp hair between his fingers, probably just to demonstrate that he's mastered the art of multitasking. I start reading the papers he's brought back with him, starting with the most cerebral. I'm on page four and I'm not big headed at _all_, but I look like the fucking ace of spades in the photo. Then there's a very fleshed out, dramatic, completely false article about Kiyomi and me across pages seven and eight. Thankfully, the bill isn't mentioned, so that's a good sign that my cabinet have thought it over and seen my incomparable good sense. 'A woman's been murdered in Tokyo? All over the news, is it? She was wealthy? Oh dear.' Funny how her murder is media bait, but the prostitute who was murdered last week only got a five-inch column towards the back pages, isn't it? She was lucky to get that much; she only _did_ get that much because it was a slow news day. The world's always been like this, it's just that no one cares. No one likes a poor person who throws their honest sins in your face, but it's a tragedy if it happens to a dishonest but rich person.

L decides that we must be fed properly instead of scavenging for whatever we can find in the kitchen like hyenas, and he mourns the fact that we have over a hundred years between us, and yet none of us have any inclination to cook, even when faced with starvation. Someone always feeds me. I can't remember the last time I went hungry, because people are falling over themselves to cook for me.

"You're not going to be happy with cake for dinner, are you, Light?" L asks me. No, I would not be happy. "You're so high maintenance. That's it then, I'm setting up a standing order with that restaurant in town."

"You mean, the village," I correct him. Misa's got a mention in the women's section. She's still alive? This paper is really starting to slide since it included a gossip column at the weekends.

"It's classed as a town."

"It's a prehistoric village populated by chickens and huts," I say. It might be a slight exaggeration.

"Listen here, Mr Swanky Pants. You -"

"Mr Swanky Pants?"

"Yes. You will eat what you're given and be grateful. No one turns down cake unless there's something wrong with them," he tells me authoritatively, putting a pile of envelopes next to me as he stalks off.

"And there's definitely something wrong with him," B mutters. L stops to point at him like a prison warden. I never know who he'll side with when B and I sling insults at each other, but that was uncalled for and L must agree. Because of my two outstanding performances yesterday, three if you count my bill speech, L must think that I deserve to be defended.

"No cake for you," he says.

"That's ok, I want pizza."

"No pizza for you either. I will have your cake, Light can have your pizza and he will be fucking grateful."

"Why can't I have pizza?"

"Because no one takes the piss out of Light apart from me," he states, then disappears into his useless kitchen which might as well be a garage for how little it's used. B glares at me, which is his new favourite thing to do, and I smile at him over the top of my paper, which is my new favourite thing to do.

"It's called... now, I know this word in English... partisanship. Preferential treatment, whatever you want to call it," I explain. He laughs or gargles to himself and opens the book he's reading. _Living with a Psycho_.

"You know what you are?" he asks. "I've finally been able to think of a succinct way to describe you."

"I can hardly wait to hear it."

"You're just milk that's gone sour. You might look ok, but you leave a bad taste in the mouth."

"I know a lot of people, including L, who would disagree with you."

"What people might tell you and what people think are different things. When people say that you taste like strawberries, or cherries, or a raspberry macaroon on a summer's day, you shouldn't believe them, y'know. People taste like base metals, egg whites, vinegar, lemons, shit and sodium chloride. L must eat a lot of mints for a reason, and I presume that _you _are the reason."

I continue to smile, and when he looks up to see what effect he has or hasn't had on me, I flip him off with my middle finger. I expect this to be the end, but he takes a knife from his pocket, wipes the blade on his shirt sleeve and looks like he's going to throw it at me.

"I don't think that L would be very happy if anything happened to me," I say. It's all bluff. All lies, all threats and no fucking action.

"He'll get over it," he replies.

"I don't think he would. I think it might kill him."

"You have a very high opinion of yourself. I had noticed."

"B, it's not like you haven't had the opportunity to get in there. You've had nearly thirty years to have a pop and there's no need to take your jealousy out on me. I know him, he would have slept with anything. A sombrero, for instance. He was very free and easy and accepting of all up and comers. I'm not saying that I haven't had my moments, but I was like you for while; everyone was so fucking disgusting. But I got over that. _Him_ though, I'm surprised that he's not riddled with disease. We're lucky that we live in a medically advanced time. A hundred years ago, his nose would probably have dropped off and he'd be dosing himself with mercury."

"He's always careful."

"I can assure you that that's not true." I set my paper to one side so I can lean towards him. "Both of us were very careless and trusting with our health. Can I tell you something? Since we're friends and like telling each other stories which the other person might not want to hear? I found out that he'd been fucking around with at least two other MPs while he was supposedly exclusive to me. I don't think that safety was very high on his priorities. Your L. I was a bit… annoyed."

"He obviously didn't think that much of you," he says, but he's shaken, I can tell. L's recklessness in the otherwise carefully considered route to success which is inherent in politics, law and every other institution can't be that much of a shock to B, but being hit with evidence that L did and probably still would screw anything apart from him, is.

"No," I laugh and shake my head. I love this. "You see, I knew that he was a bastard. I knew it and I didn't mind. I've known a lot of bastards in my life, but he won me over as King of the Bastards, until I met you. I've wanted to talk to you all day. Can I tell you something else?"

"If you have to," he says, flinching back to his book all the same. His eyes are shining like his knife and it strikes me that he's peculiarly attractive in a desperate, beatnik sort of way. He doesn't want to hear anything else about his precious L, but he believes every word I say. I'm going to overload him with information until his hard drive burns up.

"When we started seeing each other again, he fucked me in an alleyway without my consent. I could have fought him off, yeah, I have excellent upper body strength. That's not to say that my lower body strength is weak – I do crunches and could crack someone with my thighs like a walnut - but I wasn't totally against the idea in principal. I just didn't like the alleyway and someone could have seen us. I'd only just managed to get him to speak to me again, never mind put his dick anywhere near me, with or without spit, so I suppose that there was emotional coercion in play. I could argue that it was under duress, anyway. Now, what is the word for that? Begins with 'R'. It did make me think." I pause to tap my cigarette into L's empty cupcake case while I muse over it all. I feel relieved to have voiced my violation to someone who will feel more pain from it than I do. B really is in the right profession. "But, he spoke to me while he was doing it. He made me look at people walking on the street and told me that they were mine. I said that I didn't want them. I don't, not really. And he said: 'Don't lose your empathy, Light. It's all you have.' What do you think he was trying to teach me there? Because it's all about teaching. He's always trying to teach me something or prove something and make me admit that he's right."

"You're lying."

"Because he thinks that he's my tutor, you know. I'm his Hephaestion," I tell him proudly, waving towards L's statue with my cigarette, "just like that marble fucker over there, and he's going to teach me things. What do you think he's teaching me?"

"I don't believe you."

"Don't then. It don't care. I've been with him for nearly five years and do you know what he's taught me? In the cruelest way, he's taught me that I can't do anything. I thought that I could. He helped me get here just so I'd learn that all I have is him. There is no goodness, there is no hope, there's no point in trying. There is only me and him. I'm not good; I'm something that's only fit to be used in an alleyway surrounded by refuse and rats, and I always thought that I was better than that. Isn't everyone better than that? I thought that _he_ was better than that, but he taught me that any of us could be Astbury. Being civilised has been hammered into us, but underneath, we're all Astbury. I couldn't have asked for a better tutor. But do you know the cruelest thing? Once, he sold himself to me - that's how he made me feel. It was in return for something. It was a business deal and didn't he make sure that I knew it. I could tell you everything he said to me; that I'm mad, that he created me, that I'm nothing, and he threw Stephen and everyone else in my face. He dislocated my shoulder trying to get my clothes off once. Everything was all to teach me this one thing: I have nothing but him and we're all that matters. If that's right, then he should have nothing but me, but you're here, and you're not needed anymore."

"I'm not leaving him with you," he tells me with a broken voice, like his balls haven't dropped yet. Poor man's deluded.

"Ha! You have such a rosy little view of who he is, don't you? It's all Easter bunnies and sad eyes and inner torment with you. Nobody knows him like I do and he knows me better than I know myself. He's been waiting for me his whole life, like I have for him, and right now, I think I'd do anything to make sure that you're not in the way of that. I get the feeling that you're not going to take your marching orders well. Not like Stephen, Stephen was a dream. You can threaten me with pots and carving knives, but I'll threaten you with a contract on your head. I can do that. I can phone someone now, you'll be dead by midnight and they'll never find a body. Do you know how they'd get rid of you? They double up coffins at funeral homes. They'll put you in foundations where they're laying new roads, they'll grind you up and feed you to pigs, or maybe they'll just send you off to sea to be eaten by crabs. I'd rather avoid your unexplained disappearance because it might upset L, but you have to get in line, B. I could make him choose between us. Is that what you'd like to see? Would that prove it to you?"

"He wouldn't choose you," he says firmly. I can understand why he'd say that, but he's still a fucking idiot.

"He would. What's more, if you fork your tongue at me again, you little bitch, or try to harm me in any way, he'll never speak to you again. I made him get rid of Stephen and I'll make him get rid of you. I'm not very nice when I'm upset. So, which is it? Are you going to take the hint and go, or are you going to force my hand?"

"You're all talk. It's all that you politicians can do."

"Fine," I breathe out, leaning back into the chair. I couldn't care either way. I don't know anyone who would kill him – I wouldn't associate with someone like that – but the threat is believable and would frighten off most people. In a way though, I'm glad that he's stubborn. It'll be more fun this way. "You have until the end of the day to see reason, or tomorrow, you'll be catching a flight out of here, just like Stephen. And if you mention this little conversation to L now, you'll just be out a lot sooner. See who he'll believe, or who he'd rather believe. Who he'd ignore the truth for. You know that I'm telling you the truth about him, and I'm sure that he's done worse things that neither of us know about, but you don't care. It wouldn't worry me, but you don't want to believe that he's like that because he's ___your _L, your crying waif. But he's not, he's my bastard, so don't fight me. You will always lose."

The finality of my statement, delivered in a way I wish I could employ in the House but can't because of established political etiquette, makes him anxious enough that he makes a display of standing up. "I think it's knife time Prime Min –"

"I knew that I should have bought a tea tray," L says through a mouthful of God knows what as he comes back into the room. What the fuck is he eating now? Once his metabolism eventually calms down, he'll be fat as a lord and I'll have to leave him. B immediately puts the knife back into his sheath of a pocket, and I look at L like the innocent that I am. I'm thrilled by this idea of tea trays. Tea trays are very useful, important things and I'm sure that they prevent injuries and fatalities involving tea. It's a great oversight of L's if he doesn't have one and he should remedy the situation straight away, because he needs a tea tray for some reason. I'm desperately worried about his safety and could not be more interested in his plight. He sets three cups on the table, awkwardly unhooking his fingers from one of them and spilling tea all over the place. "Fuck. I'm burning my fingers off here, I'll_ have_ to get one. Are they a bit old person, or would I make it look sophisticated and European? Tea trays look so decadent. A bit queenie, maybe, but I think that Sherlock Holmes had one, so if it's good enough for him then I should have one, shouldn't I?" he asks us. Looking between myself and B, he must sense that we were at the point of killing each other or fucking in front of his fireplace. "Is everything ok here?"

"We were just talking," I say happily. He doesn't believe me and look at B's nervous and stricken face. B looks at me like I should confess or do something stupid. Oh, I have you, you emotional wreck of a robot.

"Are you alright, B?" L asks him.

"Honestly, L!" I laugh and blow some cooling air over my tea. "You make it sound like talking to me is dangerous."

"Have you ordered pizza?" B inquires, trying to regain his composure. He manages it, I think. It would be convincing. The only thing which gives it away is how his face has become vaguely pug-like. L buys it anyway, because it's easier, and he sighs as he sits down next to me.

"A nice delivery boy is on his moped with your pizza as we speak."

"Empty calories," I say. It's the rule of L's house but it doesn't mean that I have to like it.

"You like pizza," L tells me. Once a month, maybe. I'm so grateful that he's here to tell me what I like and don't like.

"I didn't say that I didn't, but it's still empty calories."

This fact is accepted and we both look at B like we're expecting him to entertain us with a dance routine, since he's still standing up. After a second, he eagerly grasps onto a reason to leave.

"Oh, I brought that photo of you and the Judge!" he says, already heading towards his room. "I forgot because of all this soap opera stuff that's been going on."

I didn't find a photo of L and his father in B's room. I must have overlooked it, unless he put it under the floorboards, but it doesn't matter. Now that he's gone, I drink my tea, feeling very satisfied with my puerile victory. I will hold onto this all day, stacking it on top and reinforcing my other victories, and later on, I will act my age and consolidate our fraternal triangle so that I can break it.

"Is everything really ok?" L asks me, languidly lifting his cup to his mouth. His hands are beautiful. I must not get distracted though, because he's trying to hide his worry and suspicion behind a don't give a fuck attitude used by the British royal family during the war when they were pretending that bombs weren't being dropped around them. I feel sorry for him, like I_ should_ confess and we can plot together, but he wouldn't, because B's his blood brother or some shit, and delicate relations between amoral creatures must be well timed and executed. He's too sober to be forewarned and forearmed anyway.

"Yeah. Well, y'know, he's very protective of you for reasons we're not supposed to acknowledge or talk about."

"I wish you'd drop that."

"I bet he has the walls of his house covered with photos of you."

"I said that I wish you'd drop it, Light," he snaps at me. This might be more difficult than I thought. Luckily, the drinks cabinet now looks like a well-stocked bar.

"Ok... Where did you take him?"

"An astronomy exhibition. I know, try not to be too sad about it. I bought you a present, actually."

Oh, he thought of me when he was walking around an astronomy exhibition. That's nice, I suppose. He reaches into a plastic bag at the side of the sofa and unboxes a mug with a badly-transferred picture of the moon on it. He hands it to me and I'm shocked by how shit it is. What the fuck?

"It's a mug," I say.

"With a moon on it."

"Yes, I did see that. That's very funny, L."

"I knew you'd love it," he grins at me and relaxes back with the self-satisfaction that you'd expect from a victorious war commander. "You're still plain old Light to me, but everyone needs a personalised mug. You have one now. You've practically moved in."

"Yes," I say, setting the mug on the table, unconvinced by the significance of it. If he'd given me a walk-in wardrobe with all my clothes inside, then I'd understand. "How is Stephen?"

"Hmmm?"

"I know you saw him today, L. I'm not stupid. You didn't see him yesterday because you were with me, so you would have seen him today. Plus a suitcase is missing from the bedroom and there are some gaps in the wardrobe. It's considerably less denim in there."

"Damn you. You're so pleasant to look at that sometimes I forget that you're quite intelligent. I didn't see him, I left a bag of his things for him at Naomi's."

"Naomi?"

"He's staying there. On a sofa. Oh, Light. I feel so fucking bad," he says regretfully. God, give me strength.

"You spoke to him then."

"No."

"You must have, or you wouldn't have known that he was staying at Naomi's."

"Mikami told me," he explains quickly, staring straight ahead. He's losing his talent for coughing up undetectable lies.

"That's a lie."

"No it isn't!" he bristles at being found out. My lie detector is going mental after being recalibrated. "What's with the questions? Mikami told me before lunch yesterday, when we were waiting for you. I didn't mention it because somehow I knew that you'd act the way that you're acting now. I mean, perish the thought that I should actually care that he's homeless because of me. I just dropped some things off for him so that at least he has clothes and a toothbrush. I was thirty seconds, if that. Ask B, he was in the car."

I try to ease the truth out of him by rubbing his leg with my hand, but it's unusually sexless and doesn't affect either of us. Maybe I'm losing _my_ talent? We continue to look at B's book and the shining pool of spilt tea on the table.

"And what was the message?" I ask calmly.

"What message?"

"You would have given her a message to pass on if you _really_ didn't speak to him, wouldn't you?"

"My message was: 'Hi Naomi. Please could you give this bag to Stephen? No, don't call him. I'll speak to him next week about arranging to have the rest of his things picked up.'"

"That's a lie too."

"Fuck, Light, it is not a lie!" he lies exasperatedly. It's feels less tense now, and a little less comparable to a hangman preparing his best friend for execution by avoiding eye contact, commenting on the weather and asking him what he's doing on Friday night. I'm not willing to show any emotion at the moment, because B would like it and because it would include shouting and slapping L across the face repeatedly with a newspaper. L breathes deeply a few time to prepare himself for the telling of an epic tale of endurance and sacrifice. "I just wanted to get the meeting out the way, which went well, thanks for asking. I had to take B into Tokyo so at least he can say that he's went _somewhere_ when he was in Japan, and come home. That's it. Now I wish that I hadn't been in such a rush."

"Oh, to see me, you mean?" I ask before sipping my tea. My heartstrings remain untouched, even though L's really trying to put the damage on by sulkily picking at the skin around his nails to convey hurt that his devotion is unappreciated.

"Yes, to see you. I don't suppose that I'll see you much next week. Me staying at the Kantei is just asking for trouble and I can't leave B here alone anyway."

"We'll work something out. And how _was_ the meeting?"

"Interesting. Murders, murders everywhere."

"You're not defending murderers anymore. I won't be linked to it via you. You have to maintain an upstanding reputation as an employee of my government, so stop being a fucking prick. We spoke about this."

"Yes, we did speak about it, and you'll be pleased to know that I'm reining back on being a prick. I'm acting as the prosecution for the state on this case in accordance to your wishes, oh mighty one."

"You are?" I ask in surprise. This is new. I feel like I should check his temperature. "But you never have before."

"You're speaking to one of the chief legal advisers to the government," he says with no sense of pride. "You forget that, just like you forget that I did two extra years of intensive training at the Bar, unlike some people who do a law degree and waste it by becoming a fucking statesman instead. I just didn't have the time to participate much in regards to the public prosecution service, what with my obligations to the firm and PR. I'm not interested in fraud and the majority of homicides are really insulting to someone of my standing."

"But you're interested now?"

"Serial killers interest me," he tells me huskily but matter-of-factly, like there's a sexual attraction to serial killers which everyone must share. All my muscles seize for a second.

"Oh."

"They don't come around too often, and I desperately want to speak to this one. He sounds completely amazing."

"How is he amazing?" I ask. My face must be a knotted mass of confusion and bitter disgust, but he's sunk into some kind of respectful affection reserved for cases he particularly likes. He must see them as other people see a lauded TV series.

"Maybe not amazing, just... better than the usual. His planning and execution, excuse the pun, was almost brilliant, only he wasn't as good at hiding the bodies. As far as we know, he's been killing for ten years, but I have no doubt that he's killed more. If I could speak to him, I'm sure that I could appeal to his ego and he'd sing like a bird."

"What did he do?"

"He posed as a retired doctor to perform free treatment, maybe abortions, off the record and out of the goodness of his heart. That's what I think, based on statement from a woman who was befriended by him and told this load of shit and that he could help her. She didn't take him up on it, very wisely. I think that he probably knocked the women out, strangled them while he raped them, and buried them in his garden. The best part was that one of the bodies was found a few years ago in a outhouse, and he blamed her husband, who was a lodger there. I mean, fuck, the police didn't even search the house and garden properly. He had a femur propping up one of the fences, for Christ's sake, but they missed that. So, because they fucked up, he killed at least four more women, and an innocent man was executed. Makes you wonder whose fault it is, really. I'd like to prosecute some of the investigators as accomplices, but there's a problem with the law. You should fix that, Light."

"I hate incompetent people," I say, and he looks at me sadly, like we're sharing an unusual disappointment in the human race. We must hate them more than other people do. It's been my experience that people who say that they hate incompetence are usually incompetent themselves.

"I do too," he replies, and he looks so young that it's laughable. He reminds me of myself for the first eighteen years of my life, looking into the mirror with my fishbowl eyes. When I was called down to dinner by my mother, my reflection would sympathise with me. Sometimes dad would be there, but normally his chair was empty. When he was there, he'd look like a martyr and his despair was so intense that I felt like it singed me. I never asked him what he was thinking. Maybe part of me knew the reason, or maybe I didn't want him to smile and lie to me.

Before I realise it, I'm pressing my mouth against L's, and it might be the first time I've done so without intending to initiate something distracting or to kill off any reluctance he might have in doing what I want him to do. I imagine that it's more in friendship and understanding, but I don't really know for sure. It might just be boredom. I hope that he doesn't think that I share his perverted admiration for murders or that I like the mug he bought me. In any case, footsteps interrupt me and I fall back against the sofa in frustration that there's yet another person around. There's a conveyer belt of people whose only purpose is to get in my way.

L's pinches his lip lightly while he looks at me, and B holds a photo out to him with an accompanying whine to get his attention. My veins are full of justified malice.

"That's a good thing you're doing. Prosecuting him," I tell L, trying and succeeding to make B sound even more screechy in comparison to my soothing, seductive voice. I should narrate audiobooks, really. Poor L is defenceless against it and his expression is similar to Kiyomi's when I married her. She wasn't surprised that I was waiting at the altar until she got her act together, but I was. Why did she have to take so fucking long to get it over with? If she wanted to create tension, then it was completely lost on me because I was just bored. Her dress did compliment my suit perfectly though. Oh, my virago.

"L. The photo," B says, the nagging shit. I despise him. I want to rip him and leave my bloody handprints all over his arse.

"How did you become a legal adviser in the first place?" I ask.

"I stood for election to the board, I won," L replies. "You're not the only one with landslide victories under his belt."

"So you just turned up in Japan and became a government legal adviser?"

"I didn't just turn up. I built a reputation. I came here with one already, but I made it more impressive quite quickly."

B's impatience is now showing itself in a similar way to a child during a long car journey. People with children must feel this way when they're about to have sex and their cockblock kid walks in, having pissed himself. "L?"

"Just a second, B," L says, realising that I think there's more to it. "Ok, Light. It's very difficult to get on the board, yes, so it might have helped that the Attorney General is a friend of mine. Well, I say 'friend', but Mihael fucked her on top of a piano. Thankfully, the piano suffered no lasting damage."

"Oh God. On a piano?"

"Just like in _Pretty Woman,_" he says, nodding his head.

"I haven't seen that, so I don't what you're talking about. But Mihael started working for you a year after I met you and you were already a legal adviser then."

"No, he started working as my _PA_ a year after I met you. Really, Light, I would have told you this before, but you never asked about me or what I did or for my PA's backstory. This interest in me that you have is a fairly new development in our relationship. Mihael was just some guttersnipe I helped out of a nasty situation in return for a steady, boring, overpaid job at the firm. He's very useful. Of course, when I found out that he'd been abused in such a way, on a piano and by someone of status, I felt a moral responsibility to report it. I also felt the need to let her know my intentions first. She wasn't aware that Mihael was my employee and pleaded with me to make all of it go away, so we came to an arrangement. State prosecution is one thing I haven't done because I never cared about it, but it looks good on my wikipedia page and you said that you'd like me to prosecute rather than defend, so..."

"You set her up?" I didn't doubt it for a second.

"I wouldn't put it so strongly. You're very dramatic and everything's black and white with you."

"That's stupid coming from a lawyer."

"I'm a barrister."

"Whatever. There's wrong" I say leaning towards the left, "and then there's right," I add, leaning to the right. "You set her up, or you didn't set her up."

"You're so difficult. You really test my patience with insignificant details. She met Mihael at court while he was waiting for me to finish a case, and she was so bowled over by his charisma and tight trousers that she neglected to find out anything about him apart from to try to test his stamina."

"But... they don't have pianos in court."

"No. Your law degree wasn't wasted on you, was it? No pianos, and more's the pity. I think a chorus of 'Imagine' every now and again would improve proceedings. If you really want to know the gory details, then I'll tell you. These statements may or may not be correct, but say that Mihael told me about her interest and I arranged a little party for various law officers courtesy of Lawliet & Company. And say that I encouraged Mihael, in the nicest way possible, to have a good time and make full use of the bar. Mission accomplished."

"You never told me that," B says, and his obvious horror wipes L's smile off his face. "That's not what you said. You said that you applied and were chosen. You're too good to resort to blackmail to get any position."

"It wasn't exactly blackmail. I would have got it without speeding it up but it's a very long-winded process," L tells him. I can't wait to hear this non-excuse. "There are a lot of interviews and studies and committees and I think I'm too good to wait that long when there are faster ways to go about it.

"I think it's low. It's something that a shit lawyer would do," B grumbles. He's not happy with his mythical tower of L exposing his own rotten footings, but I think it's funny that he's very reserved. If he was more emphatic, then he'd risk upsetting L, but passive aggression can be overlooked.

"I'm a _barrister_," L corrects again. "And I'm definitely not shit. I just don't like wasting time."

"I'm disgusted with you."

"I'm not," I say softly, making L turn towards me again. The corner of his lip rises as he's condoned by me. It's a nice moment, but of course B ruins it by throwing the damn photograph into L's lap and then throwing himself into a chair opposite us. He looks like his spine has turned gelatinous from anger.

L turns the photograph over and my heart lurches. It's the photograph of L and his father that I took from his desk and is now in a locked drawer in my office at the Kantei. I forgot all about it.

"Yes," L breathes out as he looks a the photo. "That's what he looked like."

I have to react in a normal way, I can't just stare at this photograph in silence. I don't want to be overenthusiastic and raise suspicion, because there's a thin band of safety in between saying nothing and saying too much.

"How old were you there?" I ask, smiling. Maybe I seem too interested? If I do, L doesn't seem to notice.

"Seventeen. I was leaving for university. If you look very closely, you can see B's tears on the camera lens."

"I thought you went there together."

"I went a year early," he explains, never taking his eyes off the photograph. He'll be depressed all day, moping around the house and being sad about some dead cock. I can depend on L for one thing: when he's depressed, he dresses like a slob. He is _not _putting that shitty cardigan on again, I will not allow it. "So, there he is. I thought I'd feel better, but I feel worse."

"You have to let it go. You should burn it."

"No!" B exclaims.

"I can't burn it," L says, but doesn't sound as horrified by the idea as B does.

"Some people should be erased from your life," I tell him. "Deleted."

"But you can't erase them from your memory."

"Yes you can. Burn it."

"If I did that, Light, he'd still be there. No, I should frame it. Don't you think?" he asks me. I don't want that photograph around, no. The only reason I didn't slice L's father off the copy I have is because I fully intended to give it back. Well, I was going to plant it somewhere in L's pit of an office, but then he left and the photograph was pushed to the back of a drawer to gather dust after my wedding.

With subtle disapproval, I shrug my shoulders and laze further back into the sofa. "Up to you."

"Thanks for the photo, B," L mutters, placing it face down on his lap.

"He's got some other photos," I say. B glares at me again, and he really is very good at it. He's a pro. L is still reeling from seeing his horse-faced father again and struggles to sound interested.

"Oh?"

"Yes, in his wallet. You look very stupid in them."

"I can't believe that I ever looked stupid."

"Give them to him then," I tell B, smiling as I trace the outline of my bottom lip with my finger. "It's why you brought them, isn't it? So you could reminisce over old times?"

B grudgingly reaches for his wallet. I hope that as soon as he opens it, hundred of photographs of L will fall out onto the floor and L might actually realise that his best friend has an unhealthy obsession with him and probably wanks over these photos several times a day. He bet that he does; he spends a long time in the bathroom. Sadly, my dream scenario doesn't happen. He pulls out one photo and hands it to L, who looks it over like a louche bastard.

"Oh. I look stupid," he says.

"What were you thinking of, wearing that coat?" I ask good-naturedly. "It looks like a poncho."

"It's pastel blue and it wasn't a poncho. You have to bear in mind the fashions of the time. I'm just sad that I can't blame anyone for it. I bought it myself."

"You don't look stupid," B slimes. Pfff...

"Where's the other one, B?"

I half-expect him to claw at my eyes but he just gives up his treasures with as little fanfare as possible. I can't believe, however, that L doesn't think that it's strange that his friend has multiple photos of him on his person at all times. He must think that these photos are gifts that B's brought for him, because he doesn't show any sign of giving them back.

"Will this fun ever end?" L sighs as he takes the other photo. "Oh my _God_. When was this taken?"

"Charlie's party," B says.

"Charlie? Oh, the fruit fly, yeah. No wonder I look drunk."

"Do you like any women?"

"The mute woman who does my dry cleaning is lovely to speak to," he answers with not a shred of shame. "So, there I am and I look stupid. Thanks."

"I could get them blown up for you," B offers. He's going to get them copied incase L does keep them. I laugh and he looks at me with such loathing while L picks up the photo of himself and his father again, missing the whole war of wills going on around him.

"You'd actually blow them up for me?" he asks. "With explosives? Can I watch?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, thanks. No need. Here you are, Light," L says, handing me all three photographs. "Put them somewhere, will you?"

He stands and goes to the kitchen, looking like he's dragging his legs rather than walking, and with his back now curved into the depressive slouch he takes on when he's tired or troubled or both. I used to think that he looked slovenly when he did that, but it reminds me of bending him into uncomfortable forms during sex now, so I don't mind it so much. It's just where my mind goes. B also watches him leave, and when he's out of sight, turns back to me. He must get terrible stress headaches from going from the wide-eyed, slack-jawed gaze of wonder he wears whenever he looks at L, to the furrowed brow, thin-lipped frown he wears whenever he looks at me. Sometimes he goes between these two expressions dozens of times a minute and it's hilarious. Some botox would probably help.

A smile now feels natural on my face after years of it being like an alien contortion I performed on request, and I smile at B now as he watches me slip L's photos into my wallet.

* * *

B comes back from his walk after dinner at precisely the right time. Well, a few minutes later would have been better, but this will do. L's talking to me, so he doesn't hear the deadened sound of B's bare feet. He's telling me about a execution which he saw carried out in Florida years ago, thanks to a friend of his father's who admitted him as a witness. He's also a dove tail joint between my legs, niched there while I sit on the table. His face presses into my neck while he whispers to me smoothly and darkly like tar in the lungs.

I take short, shocked gasps of air at strange moments, trying to exert some control over the tight discomfort inside my trousers as he speaks, but I jolt and shiver against him from certain words and the way he says them. And now B's a part of a moment we're spinning - he's sharing it, it's ours – we've all been drinking to varying levels of excess and I see the night unfolding perfectly. I've challenged myself to make it happen precisely as I imagined it over the last few days, and in more detail over the last few hours after I'd set my heart on it.

L's talking about cycles of voltage and the duration of alternating current to destroy internal organs and make the heart beat like it's been hit by a fuckload of cocaine. Eight seconds of 2,450 volts, a one-second pause, then twenty-two seconds of 480 volts, a twenty-second pause, and then repeat. Three times. What an extravagant way to kill someone. He says that you have to see death to truly understand it. Man is only ingenious at finding new ways to inflict pain and death. His father said he should see it, because if you throw shit at your wall of a son then maybe something will stick. When the witness box door was opened after the execution, L was sure that he could smell almonds.

"Maybe it's not justice unless they die," L whispers to me, and I lean closer to him and his voice, because it's like the sea to me. It's like the sea on a dark night when you can't see it, but it's there and it colours my life. "Should murderers get sentenced to death, or a cell and a bed and a TV and healthcare and fucking fabric softener?"

"Death."

"Maybe life is prison is worse."

"They shouldn't be allowed to see blue skies. It's an insult to the victim is their murderer lives. It's an insult to everyone if they're allowed to live. They're poison."

"No mercy?"

"No. Never."

He kisses me and I don't know if he thinks that I'm heartless or full of heart. Behind him, I see B at the threshold of the room and I wonder how long he's been there. How long has he been watching L push the hair from my face to sloppily mouth at my cheekbone in between pouring words into my ear? Did he hear the words? I feel like the volume of my life has been adjusted for clarity and intensity, and it makes me close my eyes for a moment. I have to watch B watching us and hope to God that he doesn't make a sound and ruin this for me.

L tells me that he loves me, but B couldn't possibly hear it from where he is. That must be rectified.

"What was that?" I ask L, who laughs and slides against me in response. I smile at B, who's still standing there with his rictus expression while he's being gutted from the inside. I congratulate myself for always making the best of a bad situation.

"I love you," L tells me, but he's still far too quiet.

"Louder."

"I love you, fuck's sake!"

And B must have heard that. I laugh softly against L's hair so wisps of it fly within my breath and stick to my lips. I am content. B's brain must be boiling in its juice from the electric currents that he's generating and inflicting upon himself. This is my third night under the same roof as him, and his veneer of the best and purest friendship is peeling, exposing the desperate longing and envy underneath. The poor, sad bastard. I don't think that he'd even know what to do with L. The more he sees of him with me, the more he must realise how he's allocated him a personality which doesn't match. It makes him irritable but resigned, like he's permanently hungover. Even if I felt any sympathy and the man wasn't a twisted hulk of a dead tree, I'm in the last position to offer solace. I don't see why I should.

"So you could smell almonds when he died. Tell me more," I say.

"He was dead. There _is _no more. Nothing."

"Mu," I groan against the side of his skull and the combed hair at his temple. There isn't a word which describes the emptiness of it so well. We're all going to die and we're all going to the same place. "You should do me here."

"No. B –"

"B will enjoy it. Are you embarrassed?"

"Some things should be private, Light."

"Since when? There's nothing to be embarrassed about, is there? I'm sure B knows all about the dangers of repression. What are your thoughts on sexual repression, B? Psychologically speaking."

As soon as I address B, L looks behind himself to see the plastic-looking humanoid for himself and slides away from me guiltily, wiping his mouth on his knuckles. I don't think I've ever felt so righteous as I do when B's looking down on me like I'm a life sentence of horror.

"I'm not a follower of a certain well-known hypothesis," he says condescendingly.

"Ha! Hypothesis. And what would that be in psychiatric terminology?"

"I could tell you, but I'd have to charge you my standard fee."

"You're welcome to stick around if that'll do as payment," I say, pulling L back towards me by the waist. B's face remains unchanged. Under every mask, there lies another. L pushes my arms away and takes up his vodka again, leaving us to continue our spat.

"You could just read Foucault," B replies. He picks up his empty glass before he continues, because he's not done with me and I haven't even started with him. "That is, if you can read. I think that you decided a long time ago that there's no point in reading when you can be a libertine. That was your decision and your poor education shouldn't be visited on me."

"Are you saying that I'm an illiterate slut?" I ask, casually standing up. This is hilarious.

"You must have some uses."

I walk towards him, and I don't know if he thinks that I'm going to hit him, but he straightens his back like he's expecting some kind of assault. I put my hand around the glass he's holding, letting my fingers sit lightly over his. "Mmmm..." I sound out with a half smile. "Let me make you another drink."

His hand is cold from the night air and he doesn't move, he just looks at my hand and then back at me. I let my eyes drift and linger over his face until he panics and pushes the glass into my hand before he steps away from me. He's one of _those_. I'll have to treat him like a frightened horse. Like all repressed people though, it should be worth it. Once you get them going, they go like the fucking clappers.

"I'll make one myself," he says frostily.

"Don't be stupid, it's one of many things I'm good at."

"Like me," L moans on his way to the kitchen. His glass is empty. "Except I'm only good for mixing drinks and suing people."

"He's good at a few more things than that," I tell B, since I'm an authority on the subject.

"I know."

"Do you?" I ask. When I move towards him, he freezes up again. God almighty. "I don't think we're talking about the same things."

"Go away," he says sharply.

"Why?"

"You smell."

"Of Tobacco Vanille and Noir de Noir, I know. You're still a little boy inside, aren't you? Why don't we be friends?"

"I like the way we are. I don't want your drink."

"I'm sure that L will have it, so it won't go to waste. Let me give you a present."

"What?"

"I could make him. If I ask him, he'll do it," I say confidently, lighting a cigarette to cement it. "We'll all have a little bit more to drink and give you a present."

"What are you talking about?"

I laugh and check that L's still out of the room before I lean closer to B's ear like it's a secret I'm going to tell him. And it is, more or less. Or a Pandora's Box. I'm trying to keep hope inside. "Turn around, turn around. But he was already asleep."

"What's going on?" L asks, and we both look at him standing there with his selfish vodka.

"We're just having a chat," I explain. "We've agreed to be friends, haven't we, B?"

"Oh. That's nice."

"L, could you get B a drink and put some ice in mine, please? I forgot," I say. L takes the glasses and doesn't show much sign of being suspicious, but he probably doesn't care much by this point. I turn back to B and smile to encourage him. "See, it's nice. That's the official verdict, we have the blessing of he who matters. And now that we're friends, what do friends do? He's in a very good mood. Do you want to know what I did to him to achieve this amazing and rare feat? Maybe I could show you. Maybe I could put you in a good mood too."

"No, thank you."

"Be quiet now," I whisper, breathing in near a throbbing point in his throat. "Is that... Carbone by Balmain? I remember the review for that. 'Resin notes in this spicy aroma evoke the hallowed silence of old world churches. Black fig, musk, bourbon pepper and vetiver add sensuality and masculinity.' Am I right? It's just like being in a church, isn't it? Can't beat a black fig."

L comes back, sloshing the two drinks around when he trips over something. I'm trying to convince B that I'm serious by letting my eyes warm him a little. He really is the most hopeless thing if there isn't equal antipathy between us.

"What are you doing?" L asks. He and B have the same habit of standing still when shocked and I always find it funny, like L's face is funny when I smile at him and rest my head on B's shoulder.

"Play with us."

"What?"

"You're not asexual," I laugh softly into B's ear.

"Light, leave him alone."

"Some friend you are," I tell L, then go back to B so no one but him can hear me. "Do you want me to ask him? You don't know what I can do. I could have him fuck you stupid - would you like that? That's a rhetorical question. But are you brave enough? On your deathbed, would you rather be thinking 'what if I had?' or 'what if I hadn't?'"

L says my name again angrily as he approaches us, forces drinks into our hands, and I notice for the first time that he seems very anxious about this whole exchange.

"You're neglecting him, L. I'd like to watch you two sort out all this shit. Give me a present. I gave you one."

"What present? What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that tonight is all stops and starts and interruptions and voyeurism. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty turned on right now."

I suppose that I am suggesting incest as far as he sees it, but I really can't believe that in thirty years, when they were in close proximity and in times of drought, that he never once thought of it. He storms off back to the kitchen instead of shouting at me, so I know that all is not lost.

"He just needs to think it over," I tell B comfortingly. "Now, which way would you like to go. I'm thinking that you'd be a very aggressive top, which would be interesting, because I can be too and so can L. It's caused problems in the past. But L... sometimes he gets a bit lazy. I'll give you a tip: he has a prostate fixation. You have to attack at the right angle. The angle is all important."

"You rabid fuck," he snarls at me. My God! How dare I speak about L in relation to something so vulgar and human? It's unacceptable!

"That's quite an accurate description, yes," I laugh. "But I'm sure you'll find that out for yourself. And I've got a lovely set of pipes, but I guess you know that already."

"People who scream like you do usually feel like they have something to make up for."

"Not in my case."

"If you don't get away from me I'll -"

"I've seen you looking at me," I say aggressively just to shut him up. "You and your phallic knives. Give me ten minutes."

He doesn't respond, so I'm done with him for now. It's time to move on to the big bad. I pick up the drink L left behind and find him propped up against the worktop in the kitchen. When I walk in, he looks distinctly unimpressed with me but it's not an absolute no, he's just not very happy about it.

"You forgot your drink."

"What the fuck are you trying to do?" he asks. Oooh, he's angry in a 'where are my handcuffs?' way. I'm a bit drunk already, so I have to stop myself from making a funny noise.

"Ha. Nothing. He just gets to me, that's all."

"Please don't," he says, his voice softening as I rub his arms. "He means a lot to me and I don't think you understand."

"You said please!"

"Just leave him alone."

"Please?"

"Please."

"But he desperately wants to be included!" I tell him cheerfully. Why's he so serious about this? His eyes have taken on a steely tone underneath the vodka glaze, but he's going to lose this one and he knows it, no matter what he says.

"Look, I'm only going to say this once so you better fucking listen. You do whatever you want to me and whoever else, but you leave him out of this."

"He's waited his whole life for you to notice him."

"Shut up."

"Are you honestly telling me that it never occurred to you? From what he said, you've been searching for 'Oh! If only someone would _love_ me!' when it's been there all along. You knew."

"Fuck off, Light."

He turns away from me, so I just lean against his back instead like his conscience. He's dead in the water. "But you were scared that if you did that, he'd see what you were really like. It's funny, because that's exactly the same reason why he hasn't done anything."

"I know, ok. Just leave it."

"Ha! I knew it. So, you did know. That makes what you've done even worse."

"What do you mean?"

"You owe him. You owe me. Don't forget your drink."

If he hadn't fooled himself all these years, this probably wouldn't be happening now. I never knew that he was such a coward. I offer him the vodka and this time, he takes it, but not before he's given me the saddest baby animal look, like he's being pressed into doing a terrible thing by a despot and it goes against all his morals. What bollocks. I kiss his neck before I leave, and B hasn't moved an inch from how I left him. He looks almost disappointed when I smile at him. I wonder why I bother sometimes. Everyone's so awkward and I don't know why they have to make such a big deal of of it. God! I'm not forcing them to do anything. I'm sorting their shit out for them because they can't, that's all.

* * *

And not too long later, maybe half an hour or so, B's sitting on one sofa a fair way away, looking like he's waiting for a dentist, and L and I are sitting on the other sofa. L's adorably drunk by now - if you could say that about a fully grown man - and I'm nicely buzzing. As the one with responsibility for this, I have to make sure that I'm not too far gone. Plus, I want to remember this tomorrow. The TV is off and there's no sound unless L and I catch sight of each other and start giggling like we're children. Everyone is waiting for something to happen and I'm not sure if they're the same things. If B gets his way, his ideal scenario would probably be me collapsing on the floor and he and L running off to Las Vegas and a civil ceremony performed by Elvis. I snort into my book at the thought and L thinks it's because of his presence, because he thinks that he's a car crash of funny, and he starts laughing.

Then B stands up abruptly. We watch him in a shocked silence, expecting a reprimand or some joint analysis session, but he picks up our empty glasses and offers to make us another drink. My thanks when he returns sounds hollow and suspicious, and the sting in the tail turns out to be that while my drink is vodka, L's is water. The bastard's just put a lot of of lemon in mine, which completely ruins it and masks the subtlety of a decent vodka which doesn't burn your throat out.

L sniggers drunkenly to himself again and there's no way to describe it. Pleasantly drunk. All limp and boneless so that his humour rocks him and nudges me and the book which I'm trying to read while I wait. It's very irritating that the words move up and down on the page.

I don't say anything, which is the best way I've found of getting his undivided attention. Just like a charm, he moves like a snake to the floor to crouch at my feet, dipping his head so he prises into the space between my arms and chest as I hold the book in front of me. As his head appears in front of my book, I want to laugh, but I suppress it in order to watch him with the superiority of the unattached and unmoved.

"Mind if I interrupt?" he asks, clipping his fingertips on the corner of my book to pull it from my hands. He squints his eyes and moves the book in the air until he can focus on the words, then reads aloud with the gravitas of a Shakespearian actor, and quite well for someone who should be falling asleep on the nearest available surface. "'And so, in one point of view, the art of war is a natural art of acquisition, for the art of acquisition includes hunting, an art which we ought to practice against wild beasts, and against men who, though intended by nature to be governed, will not submit; for war of such a kind is naturally just…'" His voice drifts off and he rolls his eyes at me as he puts the book aside. "Yeah. Whatever, sweetheart."

I smile slightly at his damning conclusion of Aristotle's finest, and it's one of L's own books which I picked up only because it said 'Politics' on the cover. Very few books in his house are loved and treasured, they just take up space, regardless of everything he says about the importance of culture and considering other people's views. He never raves about any book without critiquing it in some way and disagreeing with something fundamental. He has problems with almost everything he comes across in life, and in that way, we're the same. Our minds are own and can't be influenced.

He stretches up to kiss me slowly and I let him without moving or encouraging it in any way, apart from moving my mouth at his instigation. This must annoy him, because he becomes more dominant, or eager to please, I can't tell which. And at the right moment, I push down on the top of his head, forcing his mouth away. He looks at me with his still strangely clear eyes, and allows himself to be pushed to my lap. I watch his spindly fingers obediently tackle a belt buckle, buttons and zips, and I watch it fondly, like I've seen mothers look at their children. Then I look at B, who is watching as I'd hoped, but gives no indication of his thoughts. I admire that about him and drink the vodka he fucked up.

L laughs before he kisses the skin under my waist band, and I think of Kiyomi telling me to go back to my whore. Well, I did. Kiyomi often leaves traces of herself on me when she does this. The first time, I found myself thinking of something celestial while I looked out the window of my office, though I can't remember what it was now. I thought how useful she was for helping to put me into the frame of mind for thoughts like that, but they vanished when she'd finished and there was nothing left but greasy red smears of lipstick on my cock, like blood. She'd smiled at me as a nighthawk in the nest that she was, covering her smudged mouth with a delicate hand.

"I told you that he was in a good mood," I say to B, and L forces a slight exaltation out of me. "So, do you want to know what I did to him? For him, I should say. I didn't get much out of it."

B looks back down at his book like this is all completely normal. You'd think that L and I are playing chess together and we're all adults who are patiently waiting to die.

"L?" I ask, stroking his hair back, but he's very preoccupied and I have to prod him again. "L, would you like to make me happy?"

"Nnnn..." he replies, rising back up and draping himself all over me as he kisses my chin. Just like Misa when she was sober. God.

"I want you to fuck B." It's a whisper only L would hear. He opens his eyes and laughs again after a moment, but his mind is cloudy and pliable. I'm not worried. "I'd find it very entertaining," I explain.

"No."

"It's not like I can bring anyone in, is it? Think of who I am. B's safe."

"He's my friend."

"So it's even safer. Kiss him then, to start with. Just a little kiss, that's all. You should help out your friends and make them feel included."

"Light, no."

"You kiss him all the time."

"Not like that." He shakes his head violently like a wet dog. His hair stands up in sharp looking spikes until I rake them back down again.

"I'm not saying how you kiss him, am I? I dare you. See if he'll kiss you then. Leave it up to him."

"What are you talking about?" B calls out from the other side of the room. L flinches from how loud and unexpected his voice is, but I ignore B and lean down to L's white face and the red blotches on his neck. Blotches and bruises.

"You know, if I was B, I'd find this very offensive," I tell him. "Go on. I know you've done it before. He told me."

"What?" he asks. His eyes are full of vodka and confusion.

"You don't even remember do you? How sad. It's almost tragic," I sigh, mournfully stroking his hair flat against his head. "We have to make this right. After what I did for you yesterday, I think that I'm owed something in return. Or maybe this says a lot about us. You demand and I supply but not the other way around. Seems a bit unequal, doesn't it? It's something which I'll have to think about before we go any further and I leave politics and send Kiyomi the divorce papers."

"Are you talking about me?" B calls over again. I laugh at him and L does too as he stands up unsteadily. While trying to give the impression that he's articulate in mind and limb, he somehow makes his way over to B. I feel proud, like I'm sending my fledgling out into the world. In my mind, they're brothers, like L and I are brothers.

"Sorry, B," L says. "The gentleman wants to see me kiss someone. You don't mind, do you?"

"The gentleman?"

"I owe him a favour. I'm not bad at it, honestly. Just a peck."

"Because he asked you to?"

"You can have me on your couch later..." L nearly doubles over when he realises what he said. His teeth look very straight and white in a row on his pale face, like little pearls and I... I have to blink quickly to try to clear my mind. I feel like I've been hit by a bus all of a sudden. When I open my eyes again, L's sitting next to B and is composed, only to start laughing again. "Ha! Light, I need a chapstick."

"Are you laughing at me?" B asks. L's face falls into the look of a stunned child who's been told off for something he didn't know was wrong. I worry that he's been brutally sobered up by B's question, because I think that we're running out of vodka.

"No, B," he says breathily.

"I'm not doing anything for him."

"Do it for me then?"

After a moment of watching them gaze at each other, I start to get bored of this idea altogether. They're completely useless and complicated and I think about just going to bed because my head's not right now; it's cloudy and everything is getting more and more indistinct. But then B shifts closer to L until he's literally on the edge of his seat, and like a cat's angry tail, my crossed leg bounces on my knee while I wonder about at what point I should step in. B cups L's drunken little face in his hand and looks so sorry to see him reduced to begging for simple kisses to please me. I think so, anyway. I'm hated and L is loved, but B is desperate enough to accept whatever's offered, even if I am the one handing it out. The affection there is disgusting, and even L looks awkward when faced with it. His eyes grow large as they look into B's. I know those eyes, it's like looking into the depths of a dark lake. Get the fuck on with it.

And eventually B does, but it's soft and pointless and I feel like I'm watching an old film under strict censorship. B's eyes are closed and I'm sure that this is like a baptism for him, but L's eyes are open and frightened. He sits there like a piece of wood by a fire which should be burning.

"You can do better than that, L," I say, making my boredom clear. He forces his eyes shut at my criticism and he doesn't look any more comfortable, but he makes more of an effort, at least. He opens his mouth now and looks a little less like a statue in alabaster, and I see just a faintest shock of light shining on B's red tongue, flicking and searching inside L's mouth. Of course B would respond with a grateful fervency - it was what I expected and hoped for. I have to inspect this from a closer position, like a child sitting inches away from a cartoon on TV. Something about this makes me feel godlike, playing with my lego sets. When they disappoint you, you can bring a flood or break the wicked sinners with brimstone and fire. _Where are the men which came in to thee this night? Bring them out unto us, that we can have intercourse with them. _But God intervenes at the right moment and saves those he loves, or ruins all the fun, however you want to see it. What's mine is mine, and what's yours is yours. L isn't yours. I will descend and see.

By the time I reach the carnivorous scene and sit on the table in front of them to watch all this in technicolor glory, it's getting a little more interesting, but only because L in his drunkenness can ignore the bad with his closed eyes like everyone else does. Everyone has their eyes closed. I think of the detestable abomination of strange flesh, sex with strangers, sex with angels. B forcing L backwards is so perverse that it's funny and I think he's forgotten that I'm here. Maybe he'll be thankful to me for all time because I gave him this loan, innocent and sad as it is. L's there because I asked it of him, but B's probably living in a little fantasy which has been well nurtured and honed for decades. His hand, smoothing L's hair down like a rumpled bedsheet, makes me ache. Come back into my arms.

L must sense me there in my silence, and his eyes open to look at me with a rusty-coloured tinge of desire, like the sheen on dried black ink. I don't see B now and his gawping, heinous mouth. I lean towards them until L turns his face away from B, and if B doesn't catch the significance of this then I don't know if he ever can understand it. I want to crush him in every possible way. I want his heart to shatter and for him to pine to death in his office. Time will extend painfully for him, but everyone else will rush by around him at the speed of sound. My mouth catches L's, which is moist from B, it's dirty. But he grabs at my hair and pulls me down on top of him on the sofa. I wish I could see B. I wish I could see his face and see him move away to make room for me, to see him see me make L come alive and writhing and clutching and greedy for cleansing fornication. I wish I could see B's face when I place L's leg around my waist so it's resting on my hip, and me on all fours like an animal. Like Zeus turning into a menagerie of animals when he wanted to fuck someone, yes. Rain and coins and bulls and dreams.

L says that he can't breathe; the poor man needs life support. He makes labouring gasps on my shoulder until I push him away from me by the throat so that his head rests against this worn old sofa; lived in, fucked on by him and whoever owned it before him. Some man in a top hat and a woman in a bustle dress, refurbished, two women in wartime utilitarian suits, drugs in flares and suede, fringed shirts, left to rot, refurbished, L and whatever hole he could find. This sofa. Everything he owns must have a story because they're so old. B's behind me, and I imagine him watching with hatred and practiced love at how I pin L down and how L takes it. Yes, he always did because there are so few boundaries. This is no romance which involves Interflora. I lean back and my lips barely scrape B's mouth before he pulls away from me, making me bite my lip and carve the print of my teeth into them in frustration. There's no air here, I'm too high, I feel high. I'm an aide again, I'm back in Transport, I'm nobody, there's no oxygen. I feel licentious. He hates me. We should fuck.

"The offer's still there, by the way. He'll do anything I want," I say to him with a raised eyebrow. "Won't you?" I ask L then, like a caring master. L looks three sheets to the wind and purely running on instinctive carnality now. And that's the wonder of just the right amount of alcohol in someone with little restraint to start with. He reaches up to kiss me with the same tenderness with which I had used to push him down. "You like B don't you? Do you want to make me happy, L?"

"Stop it. He needs to go to bed," B tells us. Dead fucking loser. Nothing but compacted atoms.

"What an excellent idea. You're not really there, are you? Neither am I," I say to L, whose face is snug against the curve of my throat. His hand runs up my chest, over the buttoned placket, finding no obstacle, with me between his legs and B behind me. I look across the room in front of me because I need some space. The thinness of the air and the heat in it and my swimming head makes me feel claustrophobic. "I think his frailty is so obvious that it makes people want to hurt him. Like a constant reminder of mortality. It annoys you to be reminded. You know, like how people prey on the weak? He looks that way, but it's not true. He's just one big lie."

"People don't want to hurt him; you do," B says. I imagine him so close to my ear. I want to feel his hands around my neck.

"Maybe. But he's hard to hurt. Hard to break. L? L, tell B about the night your father died. Tell him what you did to me," I ask with my hand running over his back as a comfort. He sighs a despondent, groaning 'no' into my shoulder, but B needs to learn about him. He needs to know what he is. "Remember Astbury?"

"Stop it," B growls, But it doesn't affect me. I want this out.

"What did you do to me?" I ask L again.

"I... I didn't mean it," he answers and it sounds like crying. Yes, he should cry. I feel nothing but a need for B to know the truth.

"You did, L. Remember? I was only being kind to you. And then you left me."

"I didn't want to."

"Then you came back and made me kiss your feet and you were comparing me to everyone you'd ever slept with and that I was nothing without you, didn't you? While we were fucking, L! You made me do and say everything you wanted, you sadistic fuck!" He turns his face away and B puts his hand on my arm like he's going to drag me away to an execution chamber. I sound so angry and I don't know why. "And what about The Blue Note? The Blue Note. The alleyway."

"No."

"We had a fight about it."

"We didn't fight."

"I didn't want to see you again. I didn't want to do it there, did I?"

"No."

"But you did it anyway," I smile at the small admittance of truth from someone who's allergic to it. It's like a ring on my finger, mizpah, a promise of love eternal and all the things I should have felt on my wedding day if I was at all inclined towards romanticism. B's presence and his analytical brain is soiled by affection and longing which is so oppressive that he must realise, he must see, and I turn my face back to him with the smugness of someone who knows better. "That's your L."

His eyes flash up to mine and I see some understanding there which wasn't there before, but he feels no sympathy for me. If only he was drunk too and had the freedom I felt. The patient has died. I close my eyes and smile from the satisfaction of being the wronged and from having the truth told.

"I'm sorry."

The weak words open my eyes and look down from where they came from, like it was unexpected rock thrown at me. L's lying back against the sofa with his heavy-lidded, waterlogged eyes which find no escape or relief. He can't cry because he doesn't feel it enough. I speak without thinking. The thoughts find words without me realising.

"Why have you hurt me so much?"

"I wanted you to admit it," he says quietly.

"Admit what?"

"That you loved me. I wanted to be sure."

"But I do love you."

"I wanted to know that you'd forgive anything I might have done, but I don't think you're capable of it. Forgiveness is proof of love."

All the air is pulled out of my like I'm in a vacuum then and it takes me a moment to process exactly why. He's prone and his eyes close slowly because he knows that he's said too much and he's been too honest; for what are we without our lies? I pull his dead weight towards me to hold him, because, for some reason, that's the most revealing thing he's ever said to me, like he's baring his heart to me after I was feeding him to B for my own entertainment. I got him drunk and he knew what I was doing and he didn't resist it, but it made him sad to be tied to someone by woven threads of emotion which built up over time to become chains. That's what I was scared of, but _he_ shouldn't feel that way. I feel like such a despicable bastard now, like I'm rotting and exposed in a dark cell somewhere, surviving on sin. We should never have met, we shouldn't be here, I shouldn't have done this. And suddenly all the regret which maybe I should have felt long before now - years ago - infuses me with sadness. Why am I destroying the only thing I care about? When I met him, he was good. Under all of it, I knew he was good. And I know now why I wear these suits, why don't love my wife, why I haven't given a single thought towards naming my child. I know why I put myself in a storm of hatred where I could only destroy or be destroyed, and it is all meaningless. What he says in those words means more than every 'I love you' he could say over a lifetime. In this moment, I see that disapproving of him makes me feel superior to the one person who ever meant anything to me. Not because I'm related to them and have to feel something for them, or because they love me, or because I'm required to by law - just because. And I feel like when I was lying on my bed with a broken face and I just wanted him to look at me, because I forget sometimes that there was a time he wanted nothing to do with me. I'd known him less than an hour before I looked at him across a dining table, and in my head I asked him to tell me that I'm not alone. For months, when he was away from me, I was alone, and I forget sometimes. I'm only alone when he's not with me. Him and his stupid face and thin bones and his brain and broken ideals and sweet wrappers everywhere and his wet towels on my fucking floor and his shit music. He's always stealing my cigarettes and he doesn't give a fuck when I shout at him but he does and when he kisses me sometimes the inside of his mouth feels furry from sugary drinks and wine and coffee and tea and I think: 'Brush your fucking teeth before you touch me, you bastard!' but I kiss him anyway and I forget sometimes. I forget what it was like when I didn't have any of those things. I was perfect and alone.

"I would forgive you. You should have known that," I whisper through thick saliva. "We'll be different now. I'm sorry."

And he says nothing, only puts his hand on my back so I know that he heard me. Behind me I hear B tutting to himself and I hate him for mocking me and mocking us. He drinks his fucking bacardi.

L sits up and kisses me. He's woken up and he's someone else. He pushes me back so my head rests against B's leg, and B looks down at me. The view I have of him is through the bottom of his tumbler, as though I'm underwater looking at the clone of the man who's pushing me down. I reach up to touch his face, but he grips it at just a hair's breadth away. It's not allowed. I'm an exhibit he's not very interested in, tilting his head to one side to look at me like L does sometimes. The weight on my chest is L pulling my shirt up to my neck. There's nothing but dizziness and laughter in a coffin as I look past B's face to the ceiling, and everything's vibrating and out of focus. I think that whatever happens to me, ever, I'll live through it. My plane could crash because I trade altitude for speed, but I'll be the only survivor standing in the wreckage, surrounded by flames and fuselage and bodies.

"Clever. Look what you've done to him," B says. When he speaks, I think that it's to L, but his mouth doesn't sync with the words as I hear them.

"It was the truth."

B's hand pulls at my tie, first into tight noose, the end of which he holds up and laughs before he unties it roughly. He looks towards L, and I see a razor cut under his jaw. It's just a line of dried blood but it seems like a zoomed in, low quality, pixellated image. My chest is being covered in long, dragging kisses, and the feeling is like a cold wind which makes me smile against my shoulder. When I open my eyes, a dark, gracile thing, ten feet tall, is moving towards me across the room. Passing through chairs and tables to reach me, just to reach me.

There's something unnatural in the room. I should say something, but I can't move. Suddenly it's right beside me and I'm disoriented by how it's like I'm going up in an elevator while the shadow is going down, but then there's just its face with skin so bloodless that it looks almost grey and decomposing, just shrunken tissue over deformed bones. Its wide smile just grins at me. It's an old friend to me. I hear someone laughing over B and L's short questions and answers to each other, then I realise that it's me who's laughing.

"Oh dear. Looks like more than one of us have had a little too much to drink. Poor Prime Minister."

"Mmmm..."

The demon's eyes are a corona of molten lava with a red core. His teeth look like sharp diamonds, and I don't think that he can do anything but smile at me, like I can do nothing but smile back. I'm a rag doll being stripped by hands that know me, and new hands which are inquisitive. In his face, I see the future, but he's not really there. Maybe the future isn't there either. A hand slides into my trouser pocket, pressing the silk lining against my hip and I rise towards it. I'm still looking at the demonic face looking at me with unblinking eyes, but my back mechanically curves upwards anyway until the hand is withdrawn.

"Oh, look at this. He planned the whole thing. Well, I guess that this useful. Where did you find him again?"

"I saw him at a funeral."

"How romantic. He's a very sick man."

"He's a beautiful man."

"No, not beautiful... I can't help you. Either of you."

I think it's B's hand which pushes my hair back from my face and draws soft, cool little swirls across my forehead like I'm nothing but a piece of paper. His voice is a solemn, grotesque contrast to L's warming slurs, muffled against my stomach. L leaves hot kisses like footsteps, but they go cold instantly. I shiver and the demon laughs at me until I laugh at myself. He's the thing in the mirror.

I'm still laughing in amazement. No one should see what I see, no one has seen what I see. I should be screaming. Part of me doesn't believe what's in front of me and it's the same part that finds the affection being lavished on me by two oblivious people to be funny. Bony black elbows and arms like branches propping up a joke of a face in front of me, and I can't pull my eyes away from it. Its skin is the texture of thick oil paint.

"Light, what do you want to do?"

"You and B," I tell the demon dreamily. A hand grips my face and forces me to look towards L.

"Light?"

"I saw something," I tell him. My fear was delayed and it sweeps over me now and over L in turn.

"What did you see?" B asks me, but L talks over him, tracing my jaw with his thumb.

"Whatever it was, it wasn't real."

"Yes, keep telling him that, if you want him in an asylum," B says smugly. "He's transcended the realm of ordinary logic. What did you see?"

"A demon."

"Is he still here?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Next to me."

B's face looks down on me and I try to keep my eyes open but he makes me feel tired. "Is he often like this, L? You keep an eye on that demon, Prime Minister," he tells me.

"B, don't -" L says.

"He is there, isn't he?" I ask B. "He is real."

"You see him, so he's real to you. If only you can see him, you must be chosen."

I close my eyes and just listen to the words being said all around me until they become one voice arguing with itself.

"B, stop it."

"The more he hallucinates, the closer he is to the end. No drugs in the world could save him, they'll just make him numb to life; someone in a walking coma. But that might be an improvement in Mr Yagami's case. The more you encourage him to ignore the problem, the worse it's going to get. We should confront it. What does the demon signify? Why that particular form? Ask the demon what it wants, Prime Minister."

"Leave him alone."

"It's not him that I want anyway, but since he's here... I'll just get my camera."

"No you fucking well won't."

"No, no more cameras," I whisper. Before I know it, I'm upright, I don't know how. I'm level with B and my eyes float down to his chest and the perfectly ironed shirt over it. I start unbuttoning it with my numb and shaking fingers until he grasps them tightly in his hand to stop me. "I only want to see," I tell him coyly, and he lets me go. There's no mark where he said there would be. He said that it was ruined but he lied, so I kiss the thin layer of skin over the bone. "It's not so bad."

"What's he talking about?" L asks behind me, and I turn slowly to look at him over my shoulder.

"B told me about needle in his chest."

"Why did you tell him about that?"

"There's not even a scar," I mumble against the murderous place, pushing the shirt further open.

"Not there, no," B says. "The scars are in other places."

"Please don't talk about it," L tells us. It's painful for him to remember it. More painful for him than it is for B, I think, because B seems almost proud of it, and I identify with that feeling.

I rise up again, unbalanced, and when I kiss B's mouth, he lets me. It becomes a kind of torrent which I didn't expect from him. I'm surprised and feel awakened by it somehow. If I didn't have L, the original, then B would be the next best thing. He moves away from me, so I kiss his cheek instead. His stubble feels rough against my tongue, like a cat's tongue with its little barbs. I feel his voice reverberate through his jaw as he speaks to L and look behind me to see him compromised and having some kind of internal battle with himself.

"What's the matter, baby boy?" B asks him.

"Nothing."

"That's the problem with these things," I say, and turn around to face him instead and to unbutton his shirt casually in the hope that he won't even notice. "There's always someone feeling like they're left out in the cold."

"I don't want to do this, Light."

None of that. The damage is practically done now, he can't go back. I run the narrow point of my tongue over the edges of my teeth before I make a sad, sympathetic sound and kiss him, breaking him up like a melting glacier. I'm global warming, I think. While I kiss him, I feel a sharp pain behind me and the roughness of B's cool, unconcerned fingers. I bite down on L's lip so that he feels it too and winces like me, but he only helps steady me by my shoulders as I struggle to make out who's responsible for what crime. After a moment or two, I don't really care anymore. I mould myself into L's form as I'm induced and disentangled.

"I wish I'd worn gloves," I hear B mutter, then the familiar flip and click of a cap over the sound of my own heavy breathing. "Well, if I'm not wanted, you carry on then. He's kitted out and ready to go, L."

"No man left behind," I smile, curling back towards him. There's nothing worse than a threesome which is just two people fucking and one person wanking off. L moans, and not in the way I want him to moan. It's full of advance grief and regret. Sayu used to sound like that when I tried to explain algebra to her, and like the algebra, this is not fucking difficult.

"I don't know..."

"L, please."

"I know why," B says. I look between him and L and it's like I'm not there. If they decide between them that this isn't going to happen then it'll ruin the schedule I have planned. It'll still happen one way or another, I'll just have to resort to deviousness and why put off until tomorrow what you can do today? This is really annoying. "I thought, I always thought, how disgusting I must be to you."

"There's nothing wrong with you," L tells him, reaching out to touch his face. "There never was."

"I've loved you forever."

Oh, fuck! Can we just get on with it already? I am primed and they're wasting time with all this shit. The more angry and jittery I become, they calmer they become, but there's a cutting off point to my agitation, like I hit a ceiling and can't feel much more. L smiles at B sadly, and I'm about to say something, but thenl I see the demon again, lank and tall behind L, and I think: 'Don't go near him, don't go near him!' but no one moves. No one can see him but me and I feel faint with the knowledge that I couldn't do anything anyway. Suddenly, L's faces clears with resolution and he stands, wobbling on the stalks of his legs.

"Let's do this thing right then. As right as it can be," he says as he walks away. There's a graceful dignity about him in his drunken sadness, and as I watch him leave, I'm overcome with dizziness and fall against B. He holds me up, and I look up at him and laugh.

"I hate rubbers with him," I say.

"I don't want to be infected by you, do I?" he smiles as he strokes my face lightly with his knuckles. He's always a little bit menacing, because I know he hates me. He'd get more enjoyment out of seeing me choke on my own vomit. His eyes are so bright they're like spotlights. They're like camera flashes in my face. "Where's the demon now. What's he doing?" he asks.

"Don't laugh at me, you crazy fucker... He's watching."

"Maybe he can see these. It might shock him. Do you know what these are?"

He holds a small box in front of me and I try to read and understand the dancing English characters.

"Zolpidem..." I sound out slowly.

"Ambien. Intermezzo, Stilnox, Sublinox, a sedative hypnotic which sometimes has quite exciting side effects, and you've just had a tiny dose. You shouldn't have let me make you a drink. They dissolve in alcohol like a dream, but they mix with alcohol like a nightmare. You went into my room. What did you expect?"

"Haaa! You... ahhh... you didn't have to go to so much trouble."

"I've always thought that you'd be much more pleasant when sedated. One of the possible side effects is amnesia, which I hope you'll experience. You'll wake up and you'll know that something must have happened, because you'll be like a battlefield after the night before in the morning. I really would not like to be in your shoes. Your dirty mind will start racing but you'll be too proud to ask exactly what happened. L will never mention it, if he remembers, and neither will I. But I will remember. That's what I'm hoping for."

"How clinical," I sigh, still laughing, though I don't know why it's funny exactly. My head sways against his chest in my tiredness, but underneath that there's rage and I want to overcome this, now that I know what it is. Maybe the demon was warning me. The demon is the bringer of revenge.

I just see L return and the demon's blue lips before I shut my eyes. My body wants to sleep but my mind, though fogged, is plotting.

"Oi, you," B shouts at me, followed up by a hard slap across my face. "Wake up."

"Don't hit him," L says. "What's wrong with him?"

"Not a thing. He's just relaxing, aren't you, dearest? L, I don't think we've done this before."

B's overpowering sense of control is hideous to me. My eyes snap open and I lunge for him so quickly that my head feels like it's spinning in revolt against me moving at all. I grasp B's hair tightly and pull his head back.

"You're going to suck my cock," I tell him. He laughs in reply as I force him to lean back until he's flat against the sofa with me straddling him. "Ok, L. You're first."


	24. Monarch Mind Control

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**Monarch Mind Control**

* * *

A brightness makes my eyes clunk forward in their sockets, like one of those dolls Sayu had which did nothing apart from open and close its eyes and piss itself. Alive. Dead. Alive. Dead. The light is blinding me through my eyelids and I'm brutally made aware of life as though it's through a painful clash of cymbals. My limbs feel heavy, the threadbare patches of whatever shit this sofa is covered in scrapes uncomfortably against my skin as I shift against it in annoyance. Then a shadow must have pity on me and shields me from the light. I open my eyes as a reaction to whatever kindness it is, but it's not kindness - it's B - and the sight of him and the addition of visuals to my already overwhelmed consciousness makes my head bang. Then I remember, smile, and frown into his face. His hair is combed back like L on a workday morning. Bubbles of air trapped in the liquid of my eyes and what I think might be the start of a migraine, drift over him like a light snow. What I think is my inevitable shut down mode, actually turns out to be the fine lines of his grey pinstripe trousers, nearly on a level with me as he crouches beside me, and his otherwise perfectly good white shirt has some kind of purple and red watercolour gore on the side, like he's been knifed. His face is as blank as a newborn's as he looks at me. I dont know what he thinks and I honestly don't care. I appear to still be alive.

I try to sit up but L's heavy arm is draped across my chest and is effectively pinning me between him, the blanket, and the sofa. It's that dead weight you wouldn't think was possible from the fine boned, and that it must be the weight of willpower which holds you down. I try to shirk him off me by rolling my shoulders, but it doesn't work immediately, and even that small effort exhausts me. If B was to decide that this was the time to kill me, I think that I might let him do it. I imagine L waking up, sticky and crimson in my blood, he shakes me, and my head rolls off the stump of my neck and onto the floor. And then the screaming.

"Don't wake him up," B croaks at me.

"Close the fucking blind," I croak back. We're a frog chorus. God, that hurt.

"What did you call me?"

If I was going to call him anything... there are so many possibilities. But what does he mean? It's a slow lurch towards the realisation that I spoke to him in Japanese and he doesn't understand a word I'm saying.

"Blind," I say slowly.

"I'm not blind."

"Yes you are, but close the blind."

"In case your guards and paparazzi are peering through the windows at you? And how are you this morning, Prime Minister?"

My head is going to explode and my body is going to break up like a meteorite hitting the earth.

"I feel fine."

"Looks like you had an eventful night. The state of this sofa," he tuts, clicking his tongue. "I thought that I'd left all this behind at university. What exactly happened here?"

"I can't remember."

"You lost it? Stick a pin in the arm of the chair. St Anthony, St Anthony, give back what does not belong to thee."

"What are you talking about, you crazy fucker?"

"I just found you like this, the morning after the night before. Is it all a blur to you? I found so many empty bottles, I thought that I was at a recycling centre. What a shame that you don't remember." He bobs on the balls of his feet in excitement and if I could release me numb arms from under L's weight, I'd push B right over.

But I remember. I can't believe I fucked him. I must have been on some mission of mercy. Ambien and vodka do funny things to a person.

"So you found us and put a blanket over us?" I ask. "How sweet of you, Daddy."

"Anything for my boy. You must have stolen it from him, but that's what you do, isn't it? It's not for you. You could freeze for all I care, like Scott of the Antarctic porno. What's the last thing you remember?"

My dick was down your throat. No... "The last thing I remember was L laughing. Like he could see right past you, through the ceiling and into the sky."

"Do you two often laugh at things that aren't funny?"

"You're funny."

'You should go to bed, Prime Minister. You'll get a crick in that lovely neck of yours," he says, his eyes glancing over my throat while he drinks his coffee. It sounds flirtatious but he looks like he'd rather break my neck than admire it. "I'll look after L."

"I'm sure you would," I laugh lightly. It makes the veins in my temples throb.

"He's very delicate in the mornings."

"I know."

"Not at his best, but it's the only time you can really talk to him."

"I bet you live for it."

"No."

"Does he quote Dante to you?"

"No."

"No. Funny that. It's almost like he doesn't really care for you at all. But your imagination is admirable," I smile. L doesn't quote Dante to me either, but B doesn't have to know that. I'm simply highlighting that B's mutant romantic feelings towards L are insubstantial and unfounded. Pointless, actually. Put simply, he's mad and deluded. Sometimes I have days like this when I wake up and feel awful, but the part of mind which critiques things and sorts shit out is as sharp as a needle. I should go into work and decimate the opposition's agenda.

As though L's physical demonstration of how correct I am is up for interpretation, B purses his flabby mouth into a full pout as he recognises and discards my subtle advice.

"Look, just... fuck off," he says.

"You know I'm right. L mightn't have liked it, but I think that with a bit of training, you could pass."

L arms tightens around my chest suddenly as his whole body flexes itself in preparation for living, then he goes limp again, making me feel like I've had a minor heart attack. I find that my blood is up enough to power me to move out of this lethargic spooning so I can face him instead of B. His lips are sightly open and I think that if I was in a more energetic frame of mind, I'd wake him up in an unusual and pornographic way. I could easily slide into a life of lost hours and debauchery in this house. And somewhere, my child turns within Kiyomi's cavernous stomach.

But back to L. His eyes flutter open with dark eyelashes accentuating the bruised, tired circles under his eyes, and you'd think he was angelic, really, you would. I do, sometimes. He smiles at me, his dry lips cracking and stretching over his teeth and his eyes close from the effort. I think that if we woke up this way every day, we'd never have a bad word word to say to one another.

"Hi," I say, and he shifts upwards while holding the side of his head. I know how he feels. The curve of the armrest fits in the nape of his neck like a prop for a body in a morgue. He opens his bleary eyes, sees me again, with the addition of B, and I suppose it must be like a fucked up hospital scene after you wake up from unexpected surgery. The sight of B makes him look visibly uncomfortable, and while my reaction is to smile at that, B's is to reach over me and stroke L's hair out of his eyes, as he often does, but this time it makes L recoil against the back of the sofa and look at him suspiciously. When I turn my face towards the sofa to smile as wide as I can manage for a moment, I must catch L's attention, and he looks at me adoringly. He's predictable in that he'll always act in the opposite way to how any normal person would.

"Are you happy yet?" he asks me. I find it touching that those are his first words of the day, because they're usually choice four letter ones. I feel mischievous and I'm pretty sure that I must look it. I'm an oversexed Peter Pan and I'll never age. He stretches forward to kiss me with laughing lips. I'm reminded that I'm a challenge he took on years ago, and he'll ruin old friendships to achieve his goal in this very long football match.

"Nearly," I reply.

"I made you coffee, L," B interrupts gently. I knew he'd act this way. His awkwardness hides beneath servitude. "Or would you prefer tea?"

"No, coffee's great, thanks," L coughs, sitting up take a heavy mug which is held over my face. If he spills it, I'll kill him. Boiling water doesn't scar, but it would fucking hurt and I'd look like shit for a long time. He doesn't spill it though, and once it's it's safely cupped within his hands, I sit up next to him. L and I like a old married couple in bed, and B kneeling next to us, handing out kicks of caffeine. It's bizarre, really. I can't say that I expected this.

"I'll have a coffee," I mutter, wrapping the edge of the blanket available to me across my chest and under my arms to shield me from B's cold breath. His eyes turn immediately stoney at the request.

"You'll have to make it yourself," he tells me. I put on a show of quiet surprise at his rudeness, and turn to L for sympathy, but he hands me his coffee to defuse the situation and starts to doze on my chest instead. "Can I get you another coffee, L?" B begs pathetically, irritated beyond belief and comparable to a moth with a damaged wing, vainly trying to fly.

"No, thanks."

"Ok. I got you some clothes."

"You didn't have to... Oh yeah, thanks" L replies quietly. He's realised that he's naked, so he takes the neat pile of clothes after checking under the blanket. No clothes for me. There's some very obvious favouritism here, and I'm not the beneficiary. This hasn't happened to me before and it's an experience I could have done without. After scouring the floor, expecting to find my clothes in an inelegant heap somewhere, I decide that B's done something sinister with them.

"Where are my clothes?"

"They're in the sink," he says with a pharmaceutical smile.

"What? No," I gasp. 100% rare breed wool from the Shetland Islands. Woven by nuns. "They're dry clean only, you bastard!"

"Oh. That explains the strange colour of the water. I rinsed them through with boiling water and now they're soaking in cold water. Is that ok? I put ice in it. It's like suit mojito in the kitchen."

"You cunt."

"Light, I'm sure that he just overlooked the washing guidelines," L sighs, putting his trousers on under the sheets. "You have other suits."

"Other suits? Other? Suits?"

B pulls my cigarette holder and lighter out of his pocket and holds them out to me. At least he didn't put them in the sink. "Here," he says. "Give yourself cancer."

"What time is it?" L asks.

"Just after ten."

"It was one of a kind. Only virgins can make suits like that," I moan while lighting a cigarette. "Do you know how hard it is to find a virgin these days? Let alone a virgin who's dedicated herself to God and weaving. There are no 'other suits' like that... And I looked fuck amazing in it."

L stares at me with a blank expression. He stares at me for quite a long time. I almost feel stupid after ten seconds. "Cry me a river."

Fine. No sympathy. No support. My suit's been destroyed and he doesn't give a shit. Fine.

"I'm going to bed," I say. L hands me the corner of the blanket, like I'm supposed to wear it as a toga. I don't need a blanket toga. I stand up in front of B, blow smoke down into his shocked face like he's a whore who's too useless to have a pimp. Fuck you and your ugly shirt.

Then I walk off leaving behind silence me, but when I turn the corner, I stand against the wall so I can overhear them. What do I leave in my wake? Absolutely nothing by the sounds of it, but after a few moments, L apologises for me.

"Sorry."

"Do you want me to wake you in an hour or so?" B asks him.

"Do you mind if you don't? I'm tired and, you know me, I always follow the naked man... if he happens to be Light, not just any man. I don't do that any more."

God. That's a U-turn. I wonder what I did and when that happened. Maybe he thinks that I'm a more considerate lover or some _Cosmopolitan_ shite. Or maybe it's because he's just watched my arse walk out the room. It's probably a lie.

"It's alright, L."

"This is... I knew it would be like this."

"Change isn't a bad thing. Maybe it's what we needed," B tells him in his kindly psychologist voice. He's hoping, I know it, that L will suddenly realise that he's the love of his life after being a Lucky Pierre.

"I'll see you later," L says. I think he must stand, judging by the sound of the creaking and complaining sofa. "Take my car somewhere if you want. No point you staying here all day."

"Are we ok?"

"Why shouldn't we be?"

"Just -"

"We'll forget about it."

Typical L, that. He's used that one on me several times like it's a clause, and it never fucking works. What I learn from this exchange is that: 1. L regrets it all, and 2. B isn't going to go anywhere voluntarily. I hear L's footsteps then, so I rush to the bedroom silently (a skill I've perfected because it's surprisingly useful in all kinds of situations), barely stub my cigarette out in a bowl, jump under the covers, and pretend to be dead. There are many types of insect which have survived since the dawn of life because of their ability to pretend that they're dead. I take lessons from all things.

L must come in, and while I have my back to him and stare at my cigarette trailing thin wisps of smoke into the air like a extinguished candle on a birthday cake, I hear the sweep of fabric on skin, the bed covers lift, the bed dips, and that's that. I sneak a glance over my shoulder to find that he has his back to me too, and that panics me for a moment, but then I remember that I don't give a fuck about things like that and I never did. I also remember reading in a magazine that if you and your partner sleep facing away from each other, it means that you have a very stable and loving relationship. It might also mean that you hate each other but you're forced to share a bed. I still don't give a fuck, and I go to sleep.

* * *

I dream of Penber. We're in his old house, but his desk is missing and there's blood pouring from the walls and soaking my feet. He tells me something he said once when he was alive: that politics is nothing but sex and power. The sex and the sleaze is to make up for how aimless everyone is, and that we should pity them. They do it because the illicit is exciting and it makes people feel powerful, which are the two things MPs love most, beyond money. People are available to the powerful, who wouldn't be available otherwise. He says to me that I should use this. I think I have used this, but I deflect. I confide in him that I only love one person, and it's the wrong person. He doesn't understand, like no one understands what it means to me. It's not a warm comfort, like it is for other people. It's not a sharing of resources. It's me decanting everything I am into a crystal vase set very precariously on a mantlepiece, and me telling him: 'Don't break it. It'll fuck me up.' It's me not being able to be what I could have been. Penber just nods, so I give up. The last thing I say to him is that I'll ask L.

There's still something missing. Every day, I wake up feeling slightly different to how I did the day before. I draft up ideas and they seem pointless in one respect, but it feels right. It will also ensure me a third term, and a fourth, and a fifth, and for as long as I live, because no one can do what I can do. I'll be here forever, I'm sure - a perpetual dictator with L as my consul. I've been writing down Penber's thoughts and ideals lately. When we talked, they seemed like they were mine too, I just couldn't vocalise them before because they were mine and they were secret and no one could understand. The night he died, he told me to aim for that truth and rightness and to never forget it. But I did.

Somewhere far away, a ringing irritates my ears and I must have unconsciously placed a pillow over my head to drown it out. Just as I start to fade away into darkness again, someone leans over me, crushing my bones to the mattress, and then lifts the pillow from my face.

"Light, your phone."

Why can't L just take the initiative like he normally would and throw the phone across the room? Instead, he hands me the vibrating and screaming object and lies on his side watching me suffer. The call goes to voicemail then, of course, but I saw that it was security, so I send them a text message to tell them that I'm staying here, don't call again, I'll call them.

"Security." I explain.

"You're very important," he tells me. Then he sticks is bony elbows into my chest as he half-lies on top of me. I know this isn't his fault, but his observance annoys me when he uses me like a desk in a schoolroom.

"If I had a gun, I'd put it in your mouth," I whisper. It makes him smile. It makes me smile. He shifts his elbows so I don't feel like I'm being harpooned anymore, and flicks his tongue against my nipple. Instead of being fully engaged, I think of how I should have had a shower by now.

"The way I'm feeling, I'd let you," he says.

"Hah. Mmmm… you'll have to tell me your name sometime."

"Why would I do that?" he asks incredulously. "You'd leave me if you knew."

"God, is it that bad? You have to tell me now."

"Maybe it's Light. Light Lawliet. Pleased to meet you."

"You're right, forget it."

"Why do you want to know anyway?"

"Usually people tell other people their names at some point. Especially after years of fucking and stuff. It's not even on your work records."

"Oh, you sneaky bastard," he says, then bites his lip. "No, it isn't. There's a good reason for that."

"Does Stephen know your name?"

"No. He probably thinks that my parents couldn't be bothered and just picked a letter."

"B will know though, won't he?"

"Light."

"Hmmm?"

"Shut up. Your voice hurts me."

"God speaks through me," I laugh, while he turns his attention to my chest again and I look at the ceiling. Ceilings are always bad because the blandness of them always make me think and say things which I wouldn't think or say or care about otherwise. "Did you mean what you said last night?"

"Did you?" he asks, looking up at me again.

"You remember?"

"Yes. What I said? I guess so."

"I thought, from what B said, that you only said it to knock me sideways."

"B doesn't know a fucking thing."

"Oh, so you really do love me then. That's nice. You should elaborate though, because my interpretation is that you've treated me like shit on purpose to see if I'll forgive you. That's pretty fucked up. L, you're fucked up."

"I know," he says. He speaks slowly in a suitably reflective tone and draws a circle on my chest as a distraction. "But I thought that maybe if I broke this naïve idealism of yours. All this determination and conviction I love in you. If I ripped that from you and made you like me, but better. If you loved me and I was sure of it. If it came from your mouth and I believed what you said; then that would be it for me. You'd be over for me because you'd be another solved case. I just can't do it though, can I? You have said it, and I believed you. But I just loved you more."

God, he's talky. I wonder when the cheese police are going to burst in and caution us, but he makes me happy. He's never hidden the fact that he was trying to ruin me and bleed me dry to prove me uninteresting, but he's admitting that he failed, and that's yet another win for me on the scoreboard. It's not an end though; there's always a warning there that this is what he expects of me in the same way I expect him to always be a set apart from everyone else. The worst thing he could ever do to me would be to bore me and slip into a contented life of someone who doesn't feel like they have to try anymore. If he failed me, I'd probably kill him out of disappointment and to trap him in amber in a way I'd want to remember him.

So, while we're being open and honest, my mind glides back to Penber and what I should have asked L years ago when I first realised that he was a secret keeper of The Lady, but I was too consumed with envy and didn't want to let him think his position was anything to be proud of. I can ask him now though, because I think he'll answer me truthfully, and The Lady's dead and Penber's dead and dead people don't need secrets. It's been nearly five years since Penber died, Naomi's got over it in her constantly looking back, moving on way, but I haven't.

"Tell me about Penber," I say. His eyes darken. I practically hear a door slamming in my face.

"Penber?"

"You know what happened. Tell me why."

"I know that he died."

"And you got a job out of it."

"That's not very nice."

"No, it's not. And then you accused me of benefitting from Higuchi's death, which in retrospect is rather hypocritical."

"I didn't say that it was a bad thing if you did. Anyway, it was different. The Lady liked my work and I got a job from that, not because Penber died."

"The Lady hired you to work on the inquiry into his death, didn't she?"

"You know she did."

"And the inquiry was shit."

"That's not really my fault. It was an inquiry launched by the government, so it was never going to be very good. I just advised and read over the evidence and findings so that when it was made public it was boring enough not to cast any shadow."

"You mean you took the truth out of it."

"No, I was involved in it. I didn't compile the information and I didn't edit it, I just suggested the rewording of certain lines."

"Which lines did you change?" I ask, and he rolls his eyes in despair. Every time I speak, it's to a background noise of sighs.

"Fuck, I don't remember! It was years ago and it's Sunday and I've just woken up. He died well before my time here, Light."

"You were working for The Lady before he died. Don't tell me that you don't know anything."

"I advised on incidental things, nothing major until the Penber inquiry. I don't know any more than you do."

"Damn you, L, if you're lying to me."

"I'm not."

"Tell me."

"I know nothing. He died and I'm sorry because he must have meant something to you, but don't blame me just because I happen to be here."

"You were close to The Lady."

"No I wasn't!"

"He was assassinated, wasn't he?"

"It was an interrupted robbery. Light, you didn't listen to the opposition, did you? They'll say anything to make themselves look better."

"No, I feel it. I know it. The truth didn't come out. I should have access to all classified information The Lady left, but there's no mention of Penber or the oil conspiracy or anything. She looks like a fucking saint."

"I still have the information about the oil conspiracy," he says, rolling off me to pick his shirt off the floor and pull its bagged-up sleeves the right way out. He dodges things so messily now, like he's not even trying, and his reluctance only deepens my resolve.

"Give it to me."

"No. It was no then, and it's no now."

"L, what they fuck are you? You're supposed to be on my side!"

"I am," he tells me, turning back to face me. He'll warn me off. He'll make shit up. "You have to let that go. Don't drag it up. This is your party, she was your predecessor and it implicates people in your government. Blowing that open might lead to dissolution."

"I don't care. I just want the truth."

"It's old news, Light."

"It has a legacy."

"And if you expose it, what do you think yours will be? There is no such thing as a clean slate. You have to accept that."

"No."

"There are other people to factor in and you'll be killed by them to protect the government. They won't even have to discuss it. Promise me that you won't do anything stupid."

"I need to know the truth. Penber and the oil conspiracy are linked, I know it," I say, more to myself than him.

"Do you want me to look into it?"

"No."

"You can't, I can."

"No."

"But why do you think they're linked? Honestly, Penber's death doesn't sound like an assassination to me. Why would he be assassinated?"

"Tell me."

"I can't tell you what I don't know."

"Then tell me what you do know."

"I know as much and no more than you. It was years ago, there was an inquiry and a verdict and it's in the public domain. Why are you interested in that now? You could have asked me any time in the last four years."

"I was worried about asking you," I answer reluctantly.

"Why?"

"Because of what you'd say or wouldn't say. I don't want to think that you're hiding something from me because you think I won't take it well."

"You don't take things well."

"I know that you don't want the drama."

"I don't want you to be upset," he tells me. Fuck's sake. You'd think that I wear a pinafore and squeal about baby animals.

"But I need to know the truth."

"That's stupid. You were involved in the report anyway."

"I want to know what really happened."

"Oh. Well, you would find that out from the report."

He turns back to fixing his inside-out shirt and I practically sit on his shoulder to continue this. I sense that he's going to do what I'd do and leave the fucking building, so I'm more than prepared to stop him doing that.

"Or what the suspicions were that weren't included in the report," I say. I soften and lower my tone and rest my chin on his shoulder for a different tact. "Please, just tell me. Do they think that I was involved?"

"No! Why would they think that? All I heard, and this is_ years_ ago, is Takada and The Lady mentioned him and that he had to go, but that's all I heard. They shut up when they knew I was there."

"So?"

"It wasn't unusual to hear them say things like that, especially about Penber because it was a revolutionary, so I just thought that they were going to find some way to make him resign. But, when he died, I suspected that...as sometimes happens, someone finds out something they shouldn't, and they can't be trusted. If Penber found out about The Lady and the oil, the plans to sell arms abroad and that she was ploughing state money into it, then they had a choice between the risk of him exposing the government and him tragically dying. Maybe they chose the latter. He was a naturalised citizen, so no great loss as far as they would be concerned. I think they underestimated public feeling."

"They did have him killed, didn't they? It wasn't a robbery gone wrong. And you helped cover it up."

"No. But I knew about the oil conspiracy."

That admission makes me sit back, and the loss of me makes him turn his face to look at me through the corner of his eye. I can't believe it.

"You seemed so surprised when I told you about it! And you knew? You knew that I was looking for a way to get rid of The Lady and you didn't tell me?"

"I was surprised that you found out. Fucking Jeevas. I thought that was buried."

"That's why you didn't help me."

"If one man had already been killed for trying to expose it, why do you think they wouldn't do the same thing to you."

"You weren't protecting me, not then. You weren't interested in protecting me because you didn't care about me."

"If I didn't care about you then I would have helped you. At least, I wouldn't have stopped you. There are some things you're better off not knowing, Light."

"And you'll decide what that is?"

"No. I'm not losing you for something that doesn't matter, years after the fucking event. I wasn't going to let it happen then and I won't let it happen now."

"But this does matter!"

"Why?"

"I don't need protection if that means ignorance of the truth, L. And you're not helping me."

"What use are you if you're dead?" he asks. I don't know. No use, I suppose. But that doesn't make him right. My quietness makes him get back in the bed and face me, like he thinks he's got the upper hand but he's going to be kind about it. "You need to be more like me, Light. I'd tell you everything if I could be sure of how you'd react."

"About Penber?"

"I've told you everything I know about Penber. Jesus, leave it."

"I was there. I was there when he died."

"You.. You were there?"

"I'd given him a lift home. I heard this bang and I thought it was an engine backfiring but -"

"There weren't any witnesses."

"Not officially," I smile bitterly. "I saw some man run down the street and Penber's door was open, and then I found him in the doorway. Slumped in the doorway. I called the police and they told me to go."

"You called the police? The report says that it was an anonymous call."

"My dad was the chief of the NPA for years, they knew me. They said I should go."

"Because of your career?"

"He was already dead. It probably didn't make much difference. I told them what I knew."

I don't know why I'm bothering to tell him this. No one knows apart from me and a couple of men in the force. Not even my dad knows, because he'd definitely tell me if he did. I'm conflicted about it, because my sense at the time was that it was wrong, but I was grateful to be allowed to leave and not be linked to it. I could just be shocked like everyone was. I almost forgot that I was the anonymous caller who was mentioned in the papers, and started to believe that it was only my imagination and guilt which made me think that I knew what the crime scene photos looked like. My distance from it became fact, and the lies became truth because I started to believe them. But now I've told L and he's looking at me like I'm a much loved cat who's being put to sleep, and I've made it all a reality. I see Penber lying there. I see blood. I see the golden glow from his porch light making a spectacle of it in the darkness. L touches my hand and then wraps it in his, but it's not a comfort. It couldn't be a comfort to me, ever.

"I'm sorry, Light," he says.

"I should have stayed, shouldn't I."

"No. No point."

"But it would have been the right thing to do."

"There wasn't anything you could have done. It might have damaged your career chances if you'd stayed. You'd just be 'that man who saw Penber get shot' person."

"They shot him in the head," I say unthinkingly and so quickly that it sounds like a bullet passing out of my mouth. I'm still and calm and letting myself sink into the knowledge that I've ignored, and L shifts from what I think is anger. He's resolute that he's going to pedantically correct me on something he knows nothing about.

"_He_ shot him in the head, Light. Some cunt did it for no reason, not 'they.' And the police found the man that did it, didn't they?"

"Yeah, it was him. They asked me to identify him from a photo, but it was dark when I saw him and he was running away, y'know. Sometimes I think I was wrong."

"Didn't ballistics prove it?"

"That's what they said. But he no reason to -"

"Sometimes there aren't any reasons. People just kill people. It's a classic case of wrong place, wrong time and I'm going to make you a coffee and you're going to forget about this."

He stands up, pulls on his shirt and buttons it up so he's just long bare legs like some French actor in a film set in a artist's studio in the sixties. I down at my crossed legs and the tan which is fading.

"I think it was the government," I mutter. "The government hired him. He was just someone to blame."

"No, Light. Wait a minute," he says, and leaves me in this shaded room. I can't even open the blind and see the sky and the swans, if they're there. I'm completely closed off from the outside, and I don't think this is fair. My freedom is compromised and the inside of this house is the only place I can be, but even then there's the threat of discovery because of the public's need to know. No, I don't think it's fair.

After a while, L comes back carrying two mugs in one hand and a thin pile of papers trapped in a brown card file in the other. He skims through it and then points out the few relevant words which support whatever he's going to say. It's the official report from the inquiry, which I know well enough. "See, his bloods were stratospheric. He was some mad man with a gun. Look at his past history, Light. This isn't a person you'd hire as an assassin."

"Which is exactly why they would hire him," I tell him, looking up at him drinking his coffee. "And then he killed himself straight after? We're supposed to believe that?"

"He might have fallen in the canal. He was pissed and there were traces of all kind of things in his blood."

"No, the government hired him to kill Penber and then they killed him."

"There are easier ways to kill people. They wouldn't hire some homeless junkie."

"L, you know something. Tell me."

My desperation shows through my voice and he looks shocked by it. It's the same expression he had when I was begging him to come back to me, take me back, whatever, in that fucking miserable shed of a place a couple of miles away from here. I had no pride then and I have no pride now. Here a heart beats and he's surprised by it when it makes itself known.

"I don't know anything, I promise you. I thought it was an inside job too, but it just doesn't add up," he says. I believe him. No, no, I don't. I never did and I never can. I can't trust anyone. "It looks like B's gone out. Drink your coffee," he tells me.

"He's gone? Thank fuck for that," I smile up at him weakly. "And no. No coffee."

"When you're hungover, you need to drink a lot. And eat pasta, I think. That might be wrong but if you don't drink your coffee then you'll get dehydrated and die."

I laugh and it makes my cheeks ache while he sits opposite me on the bed in a shirt I bought him. I liked it, but it wasn't for me, it was for him. It wasn't too long ago but it made me think what a fucking awful problem I have. It was nice that he took it graciously and didn't make a fuss. It made it easier for me.

"What's all this about Penber anyway?" he asks.

"He's on my mind."

"Were you..."

"Ha. No. No, but he was my friend."

"Why?"

"Why? I don't know. He was a good person"

"What was he like?"

"You can't describe someone properly in a few words, unless they're a twat and not worth describing. People are either good or bad."

"How would you describe me?" he asks. This is entertainment. He prepares himself with coffee.

"You, I can't describe at all."

"Because I'm neither good or bad?"

"No, because the more you feel about someone, the harder it is to encapsulate why. Go on then, describe me, if it's so easy."

"NNNNNN, ARRRRR and NNNNN again just about covers it."

I smile again, in spite of the hurt it causes me. I really don't want to smile or laugh. I want to sit here and think and let my face go slack and unmoving like all the muscles have died. "They're not even words," I say.

"Those are my feelings over the time I've known you and I think that my summarising skills deserve some recognition."

"They're pirate noises."

"Pardon me for not being loquacious enough for you," he grins. "Did I mention that B's gone out?"

"Yeah, you did."

"Seems a shame to waste the opportunity."

"L, that's kind of insatiable. Do you mind if we don't?" Penber's name is written in L's handwriting on the tab of the file and I really don't want to move or be moved right now.

"Leave me to it and if you feel like joining in then join right in."

"Alright."

"Thanks ever so," he says, after taking the mug from my hands, he puts it on the beside table next to me alongside his. I lie back against the pillows and he lies over me and sort of chews on my collar bone. That's what it feels like anyway. I hold a handful of his hair lightly in my hand and bend forwards head to smell it like it's a bunch of shitting roses. I have a problem. I have a real problem. For all B's said about me being trouble for L, he never said that L was trouble for me. I hear Penber's file bend and crunch between us and turn my face up to the ceiling again while L presses padding little kisses on my shoulder which probably leave little bubbles of saliva. He's right; this is a good opportunity. I peer up at the ceiling and the one mar on its whiteness. As I stare at it, it appears to get bigger and become a gaping big hole, but it's not, I'm just looking at it too intently.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Oh, shut up, Light," he mumbles, but I push him off easily and stand on the bed to look more closely at what I've only just noticed now, honest to God. "Where are you going? I was in the middle of doing something with you then and you were committed. I think I could prosecute you for breach of contract. Oh. That's an unusual view of you I don't think I've seen before."

"You are fucking kidding me," I say to the ceiling. My fingers feel along the edges of the issue.

"What is it?"

"There's a hole in the ceiling."

"What?"

"There's a hole in your ceiling," I repeat, looking down at him. Then I step out of the way so he can see it for himself.

"There isn't a hole in the ceil... Oh. Those fuckers have bugged my house?"

"No. It's just a hole. I knew it. Well, I didn't know it, but I heard noises the other night and you told me to ignore them but I _knew_ he'd do something like this. Of course he'd either kill us or start drilling holes in your ceiling," I state, stepping off the bed. L continues to look up at the thumbnail-sized hole but shakes his head quickly when it dawns on him what this means.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you're not blaming B for this."

"The studio's above, isn't it. And the stairs are right by his room, aren't they."

"That doesn't mean that he -"

"Done and done. I knew it. I heard something and you said noooooooo, but I knew he was up to something. That's the last time I let you shut me up."

"Light, leave it."

"Leave it? He's been up there. You know it's him, you _do_ know that. Has he done things like this before?"

"No, it... Maybe it's rats."

"Rats in the studio? Rats gnawing a perfect circle right above your bed? Do you think he drilled it? Do you own a drill? Stephen looks like someone who'd own a drill and keep it down his trousers all the time, just in case," I huff, then watch L launch a mini investigation, nudging the bed out of the way a little and running his hands underneath it. He finds a fine dusting of something which looks like cocaine on the bed and rubs the dust between his fingers, then he searches through a drawer, obviously looking for something in particular to explain everything. It would look quite professional if he was wearing trousers. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"L, what are you looking for? It better be one of Stephen's guns."

"My penknife," he grumbles, shutting a drawer and opening another one. I smile at his perseverance to prove me wrong.

"Not there?"

"It must be in one of my jackets."

"You won't find it. If you find it, it'll be because he has it."

"B wouldn't do that to me."

"Then who did? Ask him."

"No. There has to be an explanation."

"Ask _him_ for an explanation."

"He's not here. I can't ask him if he's been drilling holes in my ceiling, Light. That's not the way you talk to guests. You'd never win another election with that attitude."

"Ask him."

"He'd never speak to me again."

"That might not be a bad thing. Unless you like the idea of him watching you."

"I know B, and he wouldn't do that. If he did it, and I mean _if_, then it's to... unsettle us."

"Well, he's done that!"

"He wouldn't actually watch us."

"Yeeaaaaah."

"He wouldn't," he says, then puts on a pair of black boxers, which is fine, although I think some support is important, but then he puts on a pair of indigo jeans. Oh no.

"You should leave the door open," I tell him. "Get him a glass of wine and invite him in. We should sell tickets and raise money for our pension fund."

"Light."

"Seriously, I'm just... If you're fine with it or you want to think that it's not what it is, then you're going to do that, aren't you."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Erm, ask him to leave? There's an idea."

"No," he says firmly. "I'm not doing it. I don't want him to leave. I've already driven one person out because of you."

"Oh, so it's my fault? Again. I force you to do things, don't I. And this is all my fault."

"I didn't say it was your fault."

"I know he's your only friend, but he's your only friend who drills holes in your ceilings to watch you have sex with me."

"He doesn't."

"What's that then?" I ask, pointing up at the peephole "Decoration? Both of you are so blinkered about each other."

"You know him better then? I've known him for nearly thirty years."

"Yes, and he's been obsessed with you for nearly thirty years, but apparently you didn't know that. I mean, first he pulls my hair out -"

"Wait, what?"

"He pulled my hair out and put it in his pocketbook. Don't ask me. Then he comes into my office and nearly psychobabbles you to death, and then he's drilling holes in your ceiling, and you think this is perfectly normal. It's what best friends do." I tap another cigarette on the back of my hand when I realise where we've gone wrong, or where I've gone right. My lighter scratches out a flame. "We shouldn't have had sex with him. He's gone mental. I thought it'd calm him down, y'know?"

"I'm going to have a drink," he says after considering what I've told him for a moment. If he can't argue then he tries to avoid the issue entirely through whatever means necessary. Usually he'd leave wherever he is, but B must have taken his car, so he's stuck here. I follow him out of the room and call after him.

"What about the fucking hole in your ceiling? You've got a mad person in your house and you can't ignore it, L."

"You don't like him and that's ok, but -"

"He was saying all kinds of shit to me. He put ambien in my vodka last night and he writes poetry about you. Ok, maybe he doesn't, but he was saying some fucked up things about you."

He stops and turns round, massaging between his eyebrows fervently. "Rewind again. He put what in your vodka?"

"Ambien. It's a sedative."

"But you weren't sedated."

"Not enough, it just made me a bit spaced. I've had them before."

"When?"

"Jeevas."

"I thought I heard you rattling when you walked into the Higuchi inquiry. Light, how did you live before I met you?"

"It was social. That's not the point anyway. B drugged me. Me! He told me he did it. You went out and he said that he'd prefer me sedated. That's why I was seeing fucking... demons and shit."

"No. No."

"Yes, yes. And on Friday he set that whole coffee run up for you so he could speak to me. And he had a knife. I was naked, in bed, with him and a knife."

"No, Light. That's mad."

"HE IS MAD!" I shout. It's like talking to a very stupid wall. I'd get better responses from a wall.

"But you said that he didn't say anything to you."

"Yes, because I didn't want to worry you. There's being a overprotective friend, and I don't give a shit if he hates me because the feeling's mutual, but this has gone past overprotective now."

"What did he say?"

"Oh, pffff. Well, for starters, he wanted me to record us having sex just to hear what you say, or what we talk about, I don't know. Actually, no. That was on Thursday night when he locked me in the kitchen with him and beat himself up. God, L, why can't you see how insane he is?"

"You're making that up. The sex part."

"No, I'm not. Then he was telling me about David and you and thin walls. Black sheets. You're beautiful, like an Dior model in retirement. You're gamin, whatever that is, and he has photos of you in his wallet. You in a duffle coat. A fucking duffle coat. I draw the line at that duffle coat. Those photos he gave you, they were in his wallet because he keeps them in his wallet all the time and he showed them to me. Then he asked me if I speak French, and when I said no, he spoke to me in French. Now, I don't know much French but it was all about you, I'm positive. This whole thing is not good, L. By the way, are you Danish?"

"No. My great-great-grandfather was," he says, his forehead tensing from confusion, and it's the most confusion and worry that he's demonstrated so far.

"I thought you said that your family was from Norway."

"No, my great-great-grandmother was Norwegian. How do you know about my great-great-grandfather? The Lawliet's don't talk about him. He ran a circus and we're very embarrassed of him. He's a missing link in several generations of law and ruins everything, so my father rubbed him out of the family bible."

"I know about him because of B! Fuck's sake, L! Ok, here's something – he said when you shared a place at university, that you got into his bed, kissed him, said that he wasn't something or other, and then you went to sleep."

"He told you that?"

"Yes, he told me that. And he threatened me, but obviously that's not as important as your family history."

"How did he threaten you?"

"Said that he'd cut my head off and put it in one of your pots."

"You must have taken that out of context. I've often wanted to do that to you myself."

"Thanks! I feel so safe here."

"I wouldn't actually do it."

"No, but _he_ would! How much do you tell him about us? Because you really shouldn't say anything. It's none of his business, L; It's _our_ business. He said to me that he's going to take you back to Paris with him and he's going to make you forget about me. I hope you like being sedated, but hey, at least you'll have croissants."

For the first time ever, he actually looks his age, only kind of grey in the face. He sits down heavily on the nearest chair and lets his head and arms hang down limply. It's about time.

"He just loves me," he sighs.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, you fucking moron! What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing," he says. I don't think I heard that. He stands up and disappears into the kitchen. It takes me a minute to gear myself into action again.

"What?" I ask him from the doorway. He glances up at me and carries on pouring some cheap wine.

"He'll be leaving in a few days."

"You're seriously going to let this go?"

"Yes. And you're not going to say anything. You're just going to be nice to him and then he'll go and it'll be ok. Don't make a big deal out of this."

"It is a big deal!"

"No, it's not. You're going to shut your face and I'm going to have drink and call a plasterer. God, Stephen would have been handy right now."

"I can fix the ceiling," I tell him. I'm confident that I'll find that I'm the best plasterer in the world, but he bursts out laughing at me and has to steady himself on the worktop. "There's nothing to it," I say defensively. "I just need to... look it up on the internet."

"Thanks, Mr Fix It, but I'd rather get someone in who knows what they're doing," he replies. I'm not letting this go so easily and I'm raging inside by how he's avoiding confrontation which is very much needed, so I take matters into my own hands, then I'm going to show him that I can plaster like a professional. I was born and I plastered my mother up behind me. "Where are you going," he asks. I don't stop, so he has no choice but the follow me through the house while I explain.

"He gave you that knife, right? It's not where it should be, so I'm going to find it."

"I probably just put it down somewhere. Light. Light, no," he says when I try B's door and pretend to be surprised to find it locked.

"It's locked."

"He's very private. There's nothing wrong with him locking his door."

"It suggests to me that he has something to hide."

"Maybe he thought you'd do something like this. I think you need cake."

No, I don't need cake. I kick at the side of the door handle of B's room and bust the door in. Then I feel very masculine. Kiyomi would be impressed with me, but L just stands there staring at the massive dent in the wood and the splintered doorframe as I start looking through drawers. B's single bed is neatly made up and looks so childlike that I almost feel a shard of guilt, but it passes.

"You broke my door!" L shouts at me. "I thought this was solid wood. What is it, chipboard? Light, get out."

"It'll be here," I say, intently turning the contents of drawers over. Pressed for time, I run my hand under B's pillow and hello, L's penknife. I hold it up for him to see. "Look. Do you believe me now? There's dust on it. Shall we bother sending it off to forensics and have it compared to the dust from your ceiling or are you going to accept that this is proof? Will you talk to him now?"

"And say what?"

"I don't know. Why is he carving holes over your bed?"

"I can't accuse him of that."

"Fuck, L. It's obvious he's done it. You've accused me of worse without any sign of being emotionally conflicted. God, I don't understand you sometimes."

"He'll be upset."

"Oh, but I wouldn't have been upset when you accused me of murder."

"I didn't accuse you, I just asked you if you'd done it. That's a perfectly understandable question to ask you."

I breathe out. This is hopeless. "If you don't bring him up on this, I'm going back to the Kantei until he leaves."

"Now, Light -"

"No. No 'Light'. Why? Are you frightened of what he'll do to you?"

"Of course not."

"He's your best friend and he's making holes in your ceiling to spy on you when you're asleep, or to spy on us. And he drugs me and treats us both like shit, but you don't want to say anything in case it upsets him?" I say, swatting away his calming hand. "You let him fuck you. Do you really think it'll end there?"

This shocks him, and it shocks me how he can so easily blank things out which he doesn't want to remember. He's already put it out of his mind, so to be reminded of it makes him touch his forehead self-consciously, and his reply is absolutely atrocious.

"We're adults. I told him that we'll forget about it," he says. "How are we going to explain this door? Put the knife back."

"No. And he's not going to forget about it, L. He's going to frame the page from his diary."

"He knows that it didn't mean anything."

"To you, no. To me, no. To him, it means everything. Thirty years of waiting for you to get pissed and sleep with him, and you think he's going to forget it and be happy with a game of Cluedo in the evenings? No." I say, throw the knife onto B's bed and leave the room to go back to our bedroom. Even when B's not here I feel that we're in some state of enforced isolation. I put the TV on and nothing's happened in the world. A few minutes later, L walks in to continue making excuses. I should pack my bag, if I knew where it was. Maybe that would make him do something.

"He knows I did it because you wanted me to," he sulks.

"That doesn't matter. You slept with him and that's what he's going to remember. You've never done anything for me that you didn't want to do."

"Um..."

"Not like that. You did it because it was a dare, really, wasn't it, L? I say: 'I bet you can't do this,' and you prove that you can, and the other way around. But you don't know what it means to him. You don't know what it's like to wait and try and try, and then one day what you want actually happens."

"But you'd understand it, of course. Empathetic Light, king of the world."

"Anyone would understand it apart from you."

"Right. Right," he nods sourly. "At least I don't exploit people."

"Ha!"

"You did this to ruin our friendship, didn't you?"

"No, L. I did it because it was Saturday night and it was either group sex or the _Dancing on Ice_ omnibus. Of course I didn't do it to ruin your friendship. I don't give a shit about it. So... are you going to talk to him?"

"I don't know. Are you going to put some clothes on?" he asks. Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Once the central heating comes on, it's easy to forget.

"B vindictively destroyed my suit, remember?"

"Try to pick up the shattered pieces and move on with your life," he tells me flatly. "Borrow my clothes."

"I'd rather die. And there's another thing. He ruthlessly murders my clothes and hides the ones I have left. My bag is missing. Add that to the list of reasons why you should run the risk of upsetting him."

"Light, your suits have a room of their own. There are people, ten to a bed sometimes, in one room with a shower curtain instead of a door, and you're upset about one suit."

"It was a beautiful suit. Hand-cut, hand-finished - "

"By nuns, I know."

"Listen, I fucked a tailor once and he was a terrible fuck but he was an excellent tailor. He gave me that suit, I really earned it, and I've cared for it like it was a child ever since. It's irreplaceable. Anyway, that's not the point. B hates me. Who are you going to support?"

"He doesn't hate you."

"He does."

"That's not what it looked like last night."

"That was the hate fuck of hate fucks," I explain. "But think what you want to think, L. I'll be staying at the Kantei until he goes. I really can't put myself at risk like this."

"He wouldn't hurt you."

"You reckon? So the constant threat of drugs, knives and decapitation is all a big joke, is it?"

"Light, don't imply that he's psychotic."

"I'm not implying that he's psychotic - I'm telling you that he's psychotic, you intransigent little shit."

I go into the bathroom and shut the door. God knows where L goes. After a shower, I have no choice but to drag a pullover and trousers and boxers (B's destroyed my underwear?) out of L's closets and drawers to get changed into, because I do need clothes. I hastily put them on and L's trousers dig in around my waist. How small is he? He'd give Kiyomi a run for her money, back when she had a waist. It's not fair.

Then I look for my overnight bag, eventually finding it in the oven. I pull my poor suit out of sink so the water drips from it noisily and L can't ignore me. He's sitting at the kitchen counter and looks up from his book so we can exchange an acknowledgement of just how much of a cunt B really is. Well,_ I_ do. I'm not sure when B got back, but he's in the lounge again, in front a bookshelf. My instinct is to hit him on the back of the head with my salvaged bag and suit, but I decide to feel him up instead, because that will probably scar him psychologically.

"How did you get that scar, here?" I ask, rubbing my hand up his thigh. He goes completely still, not realising that I'd crept up behind him. "Not going to tell me? Ok," I smile, and leave him cuddling a copy of _The Rule of Law_. "So, did you enjoy last night? I did. Consider it a goodbye present from me."

"I'm not leaving," he says.

"Yes, you are. L really regrets it, you know. Can't you tell? Maybe you were just a big let down to him. He has high standards. Maybe you let everyone down."

I'm going through my bag on the sofa to check that everything present and un-shredded, and I don't notice B until he's knocked me onto the sofa and is pummeling my chest with his fists, the big girl. This is embarrassing.

"Stop it!" I shout, trying to grab his hands. "You're nearly forty!"

He does stop, but only because L's come in. B and I stare at him, with me holding B's wrists, and we watch him breathe in and out several times.

"B, will you come with me?" he says. "I have to buy some food."

"Yes," B answers instantly. We still haven't moved.

* * *

About an hour later, B storms back in. I breathe a sigh of relief from the sofa which still shows signs of us. It's stained and looks like a group of animals scratched their claws and drew lines in the fabric during a mass rape. I'm sitting on it all the same. B strides up to me and I prepare for violence.

"I know you did this," he hisses at me. I think he's going to cry. I hope he cries.

"Let me guess. He believed me, didn't he? Wonders will never cease." I smile up at him. "I told you."

L follows slowly and the sound of the door closing and his keys being dropped in to the bowl concludes in B walking off towards his room. I wipe the smile off my face just in time for when L comes in looking exhausted. He wipes his mouth with his palm and I try to look sympathetic. I do feel sorry for him, but it was bound to happen.

"I'm going back to bed," he says. "Are you coming?"

Hell, yes.

* * *

Disappointingly, L goes to bed to sleep. We both lie on the covers. Me propped up like I'm sunbathing, him on his side and digging his nose into my already uncomfortable trousers like a pig looking for truffles. I'm decidedly unstressed and just biding my time, though I'm unsure of what will happen because this is the unknown. B is the closest thing that could pose any real threat to my position and I dread that he'll apologise for something he didn't even do just to keep L on side.

Bored out of my mind within ten minutes, I have no choice but to read the Sunday papers and then the supplements. I read them with the disgust of an alien looking down at a sewage farm. I've just finished reading an article about how spontaneous combustion has been linked to an overactive thyroid. I'm almost grateful when B knocks and opens the door without admittance. I look up at him from my downcast face and there's a standoff for a minute while we wait for the other to to shoot first.

"Is he asleep?" he asks at last.

"What do you want?"

"I'm leaving."

"Bye," I smile briefly, then go back to reading about how eating placenta is good for you, or so says some insane woman in the _Times_ supplement who dowses in her spare time.

"I just want to say goodbye to him." I put my paper down.

"Are you saying that you want me to wake him up?"

"He always used to have trouble sleeping," he says, shuffling guiltily.

"No doubt that you had some tablets for that to help him."

"You told him about the ambien, I know. You deserved it."

"You sound like L. I was just begging for it wasn't I? It's ok, you helped my cause." I nudge L in the chest, but he just pushes his face into the pillow instead. "L. L, B's leaving."

Once that sinks in, he turns to look up at me questioningly, so I shrug my shoulders. Then he sits up to see B standing on the threshold, slightly bug-eyed.

"No, B. You don't have to go," L sighs as he stands up and makes his way unsteadily towards B.

"My taxi will be here in a minute."

"This is stupid. Cancel it."

"Tell him to go and I will cancel it," B says. Me?

"No one needs to go."

"You don't believe me. I didn't do it, L."

"Who did then?" I ask, picking up the paper again. "Maybe it _was_ a rat."

"L?" B prompts him, but L just looks at the floor. I'm fine, I win. Just as I was thinking that that aggressive, burly civil servant in Work and Pensions would suit B down to the ground. He'd have L out of his hair in no time and the civil servant wouldn't be fussy; he worked in a women's prison until recently. I really like today. If you average it out, it's worked entirely in my favour.

"Cancel the taxi," L tells him. What? No! "I'll drive you to the airport." Oh. Ok. The taxi would be more economically viable though. L's car burns petrol like a Boeing 747.

B scowls before smiling slightly in forgiveness, lopsided and sad. He pushes a few strands of hair behind L's ear again. I might feel a bit sick. I might think that L and I should get a mirror on the ceiling. You can't drill through those easily.

"Being you isn't such a good thing, is it?" B says to L. A car horn echoes outside. Thank fuck.

"B, wait. This isn't right," L calls after B, following him to the front door. When B opens it, I see the back of a red saloon, so I stand in the shadows to keep myself from being seen by some idiot who might recognise me from the TV. B picks up his suitcase and smiles at L so sadly that I almost feel guilty. Then I remember that he's at least halfway through life. And he's a bastard. He holds L's face in his hands, running the side of his thumb down his cheek like he's tracing it out so he can remember it better.

"Bye, Baby boy."

I step behind L to put a dampener on these lingering gazes between him and L. The tension in L's back is making me a little nervous that they might decide to make up and kick me out, hard as that may be to believe. I'm fragile sometimes, like when I haven't eaten all day, and I haven't today. I look over L's shoulder to smirk at B and hurry him on, which works, because he shuts the door after seeing me. Once he shuts the door, L goes to watch him from the window after parting the blinds.

"I need to be on my own for while," he says after the car drives away. I hear his bedroom door close again and I feel like I'm living in the college halls of some very mentally unstable students. After making myself some tea and eating a pre-packaged salad, to be honest, it's a bit shit knowing that he's sulking a few rooms away, so I brush my teeth and go in there to see him sulk. I prise apart a slat on the blind to see daylight, then I lie down on the bed behind him and -oh dear - we're spooning again.

"I said I needed to be on my own for a while," he grumbles at me, half-muffled against the pillows. I kiss the back of his neck and the soft, fine hairs which have escaped the barber's razor.

"It's boring out there when you're in here."

"Maybe you're right. About this being a succession of challenges. We'll run out of them one day, and what will we have then?"

"I don't know, but we'll probably still have really great sex."

"Eughhhh," he groans.

"Yeah. Just like that."

He laughs and turns his head towards me, so I know that I definitely won. I press my face into his shoulder and breathe out.

"Fuck off, Light."

* * *

I'm the first Prime Minister for many years who hasn't sought media coaching. I am an orator and I arrived complete and able. It's very important, on the theme of physical appearance, that 'irrelevant' details such as an offset tie or a crease in a suit is the sort of attention to detail that a proud Prime Minister must be aware of and avoid.

When making a speech, I have always stood at a distance from my audience, because although it could be argued that placing yourself in the centre of a crowd in the old soapbox manner builds rapport and makes yourself seem like 'one of the people', I think distance demands respect. It's fine as long as you dominate the space and demonstrate authority. Power and assertion are key to a good speech. The emphasis of words and the actual delivery is more important than the speech itself. Most politicians reveal anxiety about particular issues through stuttering, licking lips, jaw drops, monotony and fiddling with papers throughout. You should never clasp your hands together, because it could look like a pleading, prayer-like gesture, which suggests helplessness and desperation for help and cooperation. Gesticulations must be confident. You must not show aggression; you must not lash your hands out or display your full set of teeth at any point unless you're smiling at the conclusion and that's appropriate. You must not swallow, or turn the palms of your hands upwards. You must never look tired. You must pause so the audience can absorb important points. You must have a fixed gaze to emphasise sincerity. I avoid the the 'Clinton Thumb' gesture since it's overused by politicians and looks ridiculous. It's often used inappropriately. Instead, optimism is conveyed though dominant, proud gestures and the insertion of carefully timed wit. In summary, you must make it seem natural, not forced. I am a method actor. I represent the government and the country, so I must be stable, decisive and assertive to rally not only the party faithful, but the country at a time of crisis, and it's a permanent time of crisis in one way or another. Most politicians deliver speeches in an over-practiced way and cold as corpse but with less charisma. It comes across as 'I'm a politician, please don't hate me' speech. My opposition's most humorous nervous tick during speeches, is that he speaks with what looks like a dislocated jaw which is out of sync with the the words he delivers. He's too easy, it's boring. I'm offended that he's the best they can come up with. The Reds lend themselves towards my private ideology on a lot of issues, but I went with the Blues because it pays (after-dinner speeches and such) and I think blue compliments my skintone better. The problem with most politicians is that they've spent too much time in the hothouse of the government quarter and too little in the real world. The sense of drawing upon life experience should be a prerequisite of any aspiring politician.

Finally, once the speech is over, you must walk away with strength and a stride. It's very easy, if you walk away normally, to look as if you're following a funeral cortège Sometimes, I used to (apparently spontaneously) ask Kiyomi to join me at the podium so we could wave and smile together for a good photo opportunity. She's very popular with the public because of her loyalty, intelligence and excellent taste in clothes. Our genetics are very complimentary.

I decide to make a speech about my proposed bill to the public before I put it forward for voting. I'm assured that public reaction and support will influence the voting results of the House. You don't oppose something which is popular with the electorate, and my whips can draw on media coverage to convince the indecisive.

On the face of things, I have a lot on my plate and a lot of juggling with a sick, pregnant wife who would easily take up all my time if I let her, a family who would guilt-trip me into keeping constant contact if I didn't ignore them; an ongoing affair with my Head of PR (I admit that's unwise), the firing squad on the landscape of my life, who would also take up all my time and headspace if I let him; a very important career with a schedule which would take up all of my time if I wasn't so efficient; staff at the Kantei and in the House who try to infiltrate and box in my life, and journalists who document and interpret every move they see me make. Anyone else would struggle but I find it quite easy without the help of a whiteboard, by prioritising. My job is the most important thing, and the other things link in to support it. They must patiently filter in like traffic into one lane if and when I allow them to, because my first concerns are implementing my skills of resolving conflict, encouraging compromise and galvanising those around me at a time of crisis, ensuring that we have an incorruptible judiciary, court system and police force; improving the constitution, setting a low tax policy to encourage economic growth, focusing on government spending; deregulation, concentrating on lowering inflation instead of unemployment (that always trips leaders up), coordinating a strategy to ease global warming; bringing an end to world poverty, fighting terrorism and fighting for equality, excellent healthcare and education in a classless system in which people will thrive. I can do that from my office. Twelve hours a day on average. Five days a week. Plus holidays.

Weeks pass like this. My secondary consideration is L and he's my primary diversion. Things haven't really changed since the day I met him in that respect. He's always been a potential supermassive black hole for me, but when I feel myself getting drawn in, I back off to hover within his gravity while he collapses into himself. I think by always staying within a certain distance, we will conserve each other. I realised early on that he wouldn't, couldn't be enveloped by me, and acceptance of facts is the most important aspect of a successful life.

B isn't mentioned again. B doesn't call L and L doesn't call B. Despite that sudden and complete isolation from anyone apart from me, it doesn't seem to affect him very much. He also accepts facts, and he chose this course he's on. Occasionally he's aggressive and accusatory, as if I'm the cause of all his problems, but he chooses to close himself off because he finds other people boring in comparison, and that's hardly my fault. I sense it from him more than hear it, because it's never said outright that he blames me, he just speaks in an orgy of random thoughts which mean something to him but nothing to me. I could sympathise, but I won't allow myself to.

Over the weeks, Stephen picks up the majority of his things, but not the entirety. L doesn't think there's much wrong with this, but I take it as a lingering hope that with this slight connection Stephen thinks he can enter the stage again if his patience lasts out. I don't think so. A few days after B left, Naomi held a dinner party, and neither L or I knew Stephen was going to be there. I thought Naomi had more sense. L guessed correctly that the purpose of the party was primarily to feed me and to get Stephen and himself back together. Towards the end, he and Stephen had some kind of confrontation about civil rights, although I don't know how, because they were both on the same side, and L left. Stephen turned to Naomi and said: 'I'm mad about him.' and followed him to his car to wave him off or some shit. I twirled a chopstick between my fingers, and when Stephen came back, I wanted to stab the metal tip of it into his hand. I'm sorry, it was an accident.

* * *

There's a swirl of dark liquid in the sink, I scrub my hands together, running my fingers inside each webbed tissue, scratch along each nail, and then I'm clean. I look clean, but a luminol test would expose every slick smear and spatter and make me look like I've killed an alien with glowing cyan light for blood. When I wipe my hands dry, I know that the towel will be stained with the same glow which is hidden from the naked eye, the sink will be covered in it, and yet everything looks immaculate, including me. Looks can be deceiving.

After rolling down my sleeves from the elbows, I slide my wedding ring on again and leave my reflection. The bare lightbulb dies instantly from the tug of a cord, and I look up, still fastening my cufflinks, to see L's bare legs on the bed. They look violated, crooked and hooking over each other, but then, he has no reason to make them appear to be anything else. No sudden return to the decorum of the untouched for him. He's always caked in his depraved filth, and that's the only honest thing about him.

I've downgraded my car. No, I bought another to use only when I escape my security and disappear for hours like an errant child. It's a complicated business because no one knows that I own it apart from me. It's kept in a garage on the outskirts of my country estate. I replace it with my Lexus, and the only people who knows that I drive it is myself, L, and the old guard at the gates who mans it singlehandedly when I'm not officially here, and he doesn't care. I'm not even sure he knows who I am and that this retreat is now bequeathed to me for the duration of my Premiership, because he still refers to The Lady in the present tense on the occasions I have spoken to him. I think that he thinks I'm a friend of hers, and his thick-rimmed glasses don't hide his creamy cataracts. If I was discovered then I'd have to answer a lot of questions. I worry about crashing it or being pulled over, because officially I'm not the owner; it's not registered to me and I'm not on the insurance policy because some dead man is, so I drive it like the dead elderly man whose persona I've assumed for the purpose of owning this car. Driving in my Lexus was a problem for a time, because one of my newer guards seemed determined to follow me and made life more difficult than it had to be, so I fired him. I kept those who come when I call, instead of intruding. They think I'm a free spirit. Not a twat, as L says.

Something which is L's idea and not mine, is that instead of risking security getting suspicious of what is practically my change in residence, I return to the Kantei. I sleep there and eat there more often than not, and the sympathy for me from my staff flows over and drowns me. I act exactly as I did when Kiyomi was there, only she's not there. I'm conscious of being watched and L is paranoid. He says that I'm becoming arrogant and sloppy. I'm not, so I think L just wants a change of scenery or to make the illegitimacy of things more interesting for him by putting both of us in roles in which we meet in strange places for something sordid. L says that it's only a matter of time before we're discovered and have to come up with a magnificent lie on the spot. I think he wants us to be discovered. My distrust of him boils. I do it because I'm bored. I do it because, as it probably is for him, it's like constructing an unnecessarily difficult formula to solve a problem. I do it for the challenge, because I can with relatively little difficulty, and because it consolidates my supremacy over everyone else. I could have an easy life, and that option is still there, but my heart needs to beat from the electric shock of the possibility that I could fail. I am deceitful and there's no end to what I will say to hide what I do.

I think L chose well, because _if_ this was going to happen and I agreed to it, it would be in the small retreat of a blind man. I love the idea and while I was driving I imagined the whole world being struck by blindness apart from L and me. I thought it through and assessed problems, and I think the treasury could cover the cost of the changes which would have to be implemented, and it would solve every problem I can think of. Because we alone would be the seers and people would be as blind as they always have been, only more so. It was a nice but useless diversion, but it's good to think about this kind of scenario in case it does happen one day.

Despite agreeing to this, my nerves still cut through me when I arrive with a jittering nervousness and a will to return to known dangers. I park my car so it's hidden between L's car and the cliff face, and my hands stay gripping the gear stick and steering wheel as though ready to propel me away from here. I watch L step out of his car where he'd been waiting, he doesn't even look at me, and walks calmly into the small building with a loose gait. The sea roars and frays white at the edges when I follow him, and I worry that its salt will scorch my car. I hate the fucking sea. I hate the steadiness of the eternal waves, the despairing cries of seagulls. So, I follow him inside where he's talking to the old blind man at reception. He's alone, L says. He just needs a rest because he's driven six-hundred miles in two days. He's a food critic writing for a foreign travel guide. The lies expand and expand, and soon the man is best friends with him and lets L find his room without being escorted. L hands me the key and I walk ahead to let him continue to blather his way into trust. He's despicable, but I can't help but admire him like I always have. He's the only person worthy of my resentment and respect, and that gets messy. I love the air he breathes. Sometimes I wonder whether it's a a disorder I've developed; some syndrome with a long Germanic name, maybe. Because I should want him rotting in a cell for fraud.

Wherever I am and have been, I'm always in the wrong place for the right reasons.

Under his jacket, his shoulders are broad and I wish he wouldn't hunch them so often. It's embarrassing apart from anything else. It makes me cringe to see him physically lie to acquaintances and whomever he thinks would respond better to someone who looks deferential and happy in a mood of permanent anxiety. People don't see him like I do. He won't allow himself to be seen as anything like his normal self.

He lets me kiss his neck and struggle with the buttons on his shirt which are too small to be anything but a nuisance to me, like they're some kind of weak chastity belt to inspire violent destruction. While I do that, he scans a paper with indifference, past the photographs of massacred people of regimes in less fortunate countries. I feel like a fairly desperate man and that we should exchange places.

And later, I draw my belt through the loops on my waistband again. The unforgiving leather belt makes an example of the damage I've suffered and makes me very aware of it. I curse the thumbprint bruises on my hipbones and thighs. Some I feel but don't see, but those visible are coloured like autumn leaves; the welts and scratches on my back, the red bite mark on my chest from pearl teeth. But I'm a tribute, I think. The violence makes a god live. L has his head tilted towards the ceiling and draws a long finger from his chin to his chest in one fluid motion. When I see him now, fucked and lounging, extending and diluting whatever glow there is left, I hate him for it.

I realise that the room's so terrible that I want to stay here longer than I should. I was going for the 'bang bye' approach to affairs to make L feel cheap, but it doesn't work out that way. I postpone seeing Kiyomi so we can savour this experience and share an equally terrible bento box and pot of tea from room service before we go in our different directions. We're dressed and we're smoking, though only because there's a sign telling us not to smoke. He's sitting in a kind of nursing chair, and I admire the contrast of the horrible, decades-old chintzy, flouncy fabric of the chair and the thoughtlessly tasteful fabric of the trousers hanging from his legs. I sit opposite him on the bed and it's almost like a job interview in the 50s, I'd imagine, only we're in a bedroom. Clouds of smoke colour every word we say to each other, and he says: "I knew someone like you once. You remind me of him."

"There's no one else like me. That's what you said. All that bollocks," I say scornfully. As soon as L closed the door behind him, I found our situation incredibly funny and have struggled to keep a straight face since. I've laughed inappropriately during dull moments and grunting, shoving maltreatment. I think of the blind man downstairs who's probably warning his son about some big gastro cheese who's coming over to inspect his menu tonight and recommend him in a European good food guide. He's sleeping in his room right now and he's had one of his bento boxes. I don't exist. The blind man is sitting underneath the political story of the decade - him and his marmalade cat - and it would pay for his retirement and the mortgage on this fucking place. He represents every person on the street.

"I was romantically nostalgic about you at the time, Light. Strangely, that's ongoing," he replies coolly. No shits are given. He reminds me so much of my old headmaster; superior in everything, louche, unavailable and available at the same time. "But it's true, there isn't anyone like you. There are, but only for brief flashes of time. Then it gets burned out of them and they become just like everyone else. They don't last long, usually. So you're unique. A good man in a bad place," he says, tapping the pillar of ash from his cigarette.

"So who was it?"

"Hmmm?"

"Who do I remind you of?"

"Me."

* * *

After a cabinet meeting, I feel dulled by the contentedness of everyone. Work has become something I can forget about as soon as the clock tells me that I can, so I take a long lunch and L comes with me for what I tell my security detail is for further discussion of the meeting. What I recall most over the last few weeks are quiet moments like this, not our conversations or our disagreements or his moody moments which simultaneously tell me to ignore him and take notice of him at the same time. I suspect that he's feeling the loss of B's ears and how they soaked up his edited admissions and sins, and now that B's in my head again, I can't think of anything else but how his mouth was made only to take my cock. I don't mention it to L because I'm thoughtful like that. B isn't to be mentioned. The wound is still raw. Losing someone who always sees the best in him, haunts him. He's no longer absolved and made clean by B, there's no Stephen to make him think that he could be 'better', whatever that is. He's condoned by me.

My foot stays steady on the accelerator which propels us down the motorway, I'm followed by my security and their guns and vigilance, and I think of being killed in some Ides of March reenactment while L talks to me about how female MPs are only window dressing. I imagine myself bleeding to death on the House steps, and the last thing I see is the white flash of a camera bulb in my face as my body moulds itself to the hard stone. I don't mention that to L either. I press myself against him outside some shit service station and I can smell the grease and burnt coffee in plastic cups through the car vents. Thid is a reoccurring part of our days recently: I pick him up where he waits like a prostitute who's not too fussy and doesn't haggle, we talk in some kind of courtship as I drive, then I pull over and we don't talk anymore. It's an unacknowledged fetish, maybe. I'm drawing myself away from the House and the Kantei to see if we still work outside of that, even in the most boring places on earth. A plane passes over us from the nearby airport and the windows rattle while L's mouth is twisting around my penis, because that doesn't draw attention like a shaking car would, and this is how things are. My hand slides down the back of his trousers because he thinks he's doing the right thing, and I think of opening the sunroof so the people in the plane could see, if they have binoculars. Sorry you're now leaving Japan. Please come back soon. People walk past and admire my car, not knowing who's inside, and I stroke my worker's hair. I like to think that this isn't the goal every time I see him, but I suppose that it is. In a deeper sense, it's a renewal of vows or something. I still like you.

Then I drive somewhere because I want to see something beautiful. L's saliva and traces of myself dry tight beneath relocked trousers, and I end up at the hospital without much thought. Before we leave the warm car, I wipe the corner of L's mouth with my thumb and a fondness I should feel for my family.

* * *

Kiyomi is encouraged by a nurse to show me the ornamental garden and she obeys, not really seeming to care either way. She's fussed over by two nurses who put scarves and gloves and socks and shoes and a coat on her, but as soon as they leave, she takes most of them off again, leaving herself with only the necessary coat and shoes. It's not even cold outside.

I've seen Kiyomi since she told me that I was useless, common and only good for procreation, and we reached an unspoken truce and forget about the whole episode. That was weeks ago, and when I've visited, I haven't stayed for long and we haven't discussed anything apart from her state of wellness. It makes it easier, because stagnation with Kiyomi leaves more energy and opportunity for clashes with L and more professional ones with the opposition. She's clearly confused and embarrassed to be seen by L, and draws her coat tightly across her chest. He doesn't hide looking over her, comparing her to the last time he saw her. At one point, I know he respected her, but no one could deny that she looks fucking awful now.

We follow the square path in the garden which has been cleared of people in wheelchairs and nurses dragging on cigarettes. Kiyomi's deathly quiet and I'm just serving my time, so it's left to L to start any conversation.

"Kiyomi, I'm sorry about your... obstetrical problem."

He never has been very good at small talk. He thinks pregnancy is only a problem stupid people get themselves into after a cold snap and a electrical blackout. My breath leaves my body like wind through a tiny window.

"Thank you," Kiyomi returns politely. "I'm sorry about you and Stephen."

Even I don't know whether that's a sly dig or not. L's face stays blank for a moment longer than it should, then quickly shifts into a social smile of gratitude and all is well with the world. We walk, the three of us, around the garden with security trailing behind us like birds in the wake of a plough. There's frogspawn in a small pond and flashes of white and orange from koi carp underneath, picking off the unborn. Kiyomi stops abruptly, her hard stomach billows under a coat she can't fasten.

"Light, could I speak to you for a moment?"

I turn my face towards L, who dutifully gets distracted by the perfectly raked gravel on my left, and tramples over it. As he goes, my eyes follow his back while Kiyomi and I resume our walking with no purpose. God, you wouldn't think he'd been near a service station in his life, let alone to suck off someone in a parked car. His suit is quite special. I don't know the brand and I'd say was too tight but that's a design feature and... no, it's fine. Stone grey, 100% wool, peaked lapels with a white shirt and a oyster coloured silk tie. It's a bit wedding-like and completely inappropriate for work, but my views relax on that sort of thing sometimes. He's been trying lately.

"I'm sorry about saying that you're a policeman's son," she says. L's presence must make her think it's time to apologise for old news and actual facts. It's like an official apology to another country for conflict decades ago, which I occasionally subject myself to due to public pressure and to benefit international relations without money being exchanged.

"It must be very stressful in here," I reply. I don't think it could be, really. _I _might go mad in a place like this, but not Kiyomi or anyone else. L's sitting in a small pagoda made for two.

"Yes. But I don't it like when we fight," she says mournfully. Her hand runs between my shoulder blades, creating friction against the fabric. I wonder if she's trying to find a wind-up key back there. We're approaching a wall and turn sharply at a 90 degree angle.

"You seem better."

"I feel better. I've been thinking of how we rushed into this though. It's too late now, I know, but... I was thinking of how it could be affecting you."

I'm not the one carrying a parasite inside me. Or maybe I am. But she's like a tree feeding mistletoe and one day it's going to burst out of her. I had to be induced, but this child probably won't. It'll accept the life we gave it and be eager to start.

"I'm ok, Kiyomi. I was tired but I'm ok now."

"Good. Because we should talk more," she says. L and I should talk more. I get nothing from talking to anyone else.

"Well, we will then."

"How did the cabinet meeting go? About your bill, I mean," she asks awkwardly, maybe because it took her a few weeks to ask me.

"Fine."

"Good. What's the bill about?"

"Reform."

"Oh," she mutters with a dipping head which conveys understanding, but I know she's already lost interest. As I thought, she changes the subject. "Lawliet seems well."

She's edging towards asking me why I brought him. I want him to be my Press Secretary, but there's no point. I want him to run in local elections and win a seat. I want to show my support and say aggressively in interviews and in the House that his sexuality has no bearing on his competence. I want to promote him and promote him and then I'll leave my life for him.

"We've just had a lunch meeting and he wanted to see you."

"That's nice of him. Where did you go for lunch?"

"Some place L goes to. Not in the city."

"Jiro said that you've been staying at L's sometimes lately," she says. My head nearly spins off my shoulders.

"Who said?"

"Jiro. He's in security."

"Oh, yes. I'm terrible with names."

"You should stay at the Kantei, it's safer. I'm not saying that you shouldn't see your friends but -"

"I'm there because it's closer."

"To me?" she asks. I can't tell her that no, actually I moved her to a hospital nearer to L's so I'd have a excuse to stay there. She takes my silence as she would take a confirmation of what she wants to hear and leans her head against my arm. I hope she's not wearing foundation because I really don't need that shit on this jacket. "I've never felt so ugly, Light," she tells me. Oh, for God's sake.

"You're not ugly."

"I just hate it."

"I know."

"It moves and I can't sleep."

And I have nothing to say about that. A pulse of horror runs through me, like when someone tells you about their constipation trouble. The end of this approaches though, since we're nearing the little wooden building L's in and there's no way I'm doing another loop of this like I'm part of an emotional go-kart. Kiyomi has nothing to think about apart from herself. I look at L rubbing a leaf between his fingers and trying not to watch us.

"Sorry, Kiyomi, we have to get back," I say as I slow to a stop outside the pagoda. L extends a leg and slinks up beside me, obviously relishing the deceit of the situation and his part of the other man.

"Will you come and see me again later?" Kiyomi asks me, gripping both my hands for effect. I turn my head to look behind at security slowly, then back at Kiyomi's fervent hands. One day, Kiyomi, those men, everyone, will look back on this moment and the significance of it will be revealed. Could they blame me though? Look at her.

"Yeah, if I can, I'll call around later." I say. I throw a smile in, and she smiles back with a suddenly bright face and colour in her cheeks, like all the blood just rushed to her head. I feel an intense need to privatise some industries and ruin communities in poor places in the North which no one cares about.

"Lawliet," she says, turning to L. For a moment she stops, apart from moving her arms like a wooden puppet, and then decides to hug him for some reason. I almost laugh at L's retracting and frozen reaction, and I would if I knew what the hell this was about. It must be hormonal. "I just want to thank you," she explains. I'm still lost. I don't know what's wrong with her. This situation is out of my control, like she's held a gun up to both our heads.

"Why?" L asks her. He looks at me like I should intervene and protect him.

"For letting Light stay with you," she laughs, and finally lets go of him. "It makes me feel so much better knowing that he's not far away."

"He's very quiet," he shrugs off. "I hardly know he's there."

"All the same, thank you."

I should feel awful, I know that. My upbringing tells me that I should, but I don't. I wonder then why I did this in the first place. I didn't think about it, it's like I was programmed to come here and get it out the way with L for company to limit the time. I feel no sexual pangs from this scene. Maybe I hoped she might ask me why he's here. That she'd put it all together and figure it out and be like other wives of politician who don't care. I imagined that depending on how easily I broke her in, I could wrangle a 'It's ok, I understand,' from her, but in my heart I know she wouldn't be that way. A woman she could cope with -she could wipe her out. But a man, and a man like L, is a different animal entirely. That changes something fundamental and all she could do is scream and wreak revenge. She can't pull _his_ hair in a parking lot and scare him off.

So now that L and I are traumatised by something unexpected, I look at my watch but don't register the time.

"We better be going."

"Yes, we're running late," L agrees hurriedly. Her disappointment is accompanied by the sad, inevitable smile of an old relative who is lucky to see a member of her family once a year.

"I'll see you later," she says. She reaches up towards me and I lean down to kiss her obediently with L observing. Then I feel a pang of satisfaction.

And we get out of there. We walk back to the car, L slightly ahead of me and with security guards between us and behind me, like he's leading a pack of protection for a special cargo. He's not important enough for them to include him in their safe circle, and he wouldn't let them anyway. I exchange some words with my head of security and two of them are going to follow my car back to the Kantei, and it feel like it's reluctant on both sides. I don't want them, but they're necessary. They'll protect my life with their own if needs be, but because they're paid to. Maybe there's a warlike state of mind they have. It's for their country, but not for me personally. I know that they dislike me personally because I don't give them warning of what I'm doing a lot of the time and I don't tell them my intentions. I don't value them and this is something I really can't rectify because my sourness regarding them is too overwhelming to hide.

There's already a guard standing by my car to make sure that it too is safe. I unbutton my jacket as I get in, sliding in against the leather, and someone shuts the door for me. L's already inside and we don't speak. I don't start the car immediately because I should say something funny and dismissive. Something about what a bad idea this was, but I don't. He fastens his seatbelt with a click and I do the same. My hands rest on the steering wheel and I turn my head towards him but keeping it down so all I see are his legs and dials and leather covered phallic gearsticks and handbrakes. I realise that I'm not ashamed, despite these residual teachings rising. Then I start the engine. The car feels heavy.

* * *

And I don't see L again that day, or the next day. I stay at the Kantei and sleep in my empty bed like the dead. L's sleeplessness is catching, I think. Just from his presence. When I wake up, there are two messages from two in the morning. One telling me that the swans are gone, the other is from half an hour after the first and tells me to ignore the previous message because he didn't realise the time. He would have been sitting there alone and awake. Then it's that old robotic feeling of going about the daily preparations for living and I don't speak until 9, and then it's only to the woman who sets out my breakfast and polished cutlery so I can eat alone, read the papers and check my diary.

I run into Shadow Transport in a restaurant after lunch. Among other things, she tells me that the electorate vote for personality first and foremost, not the party, which I know. She flatters me unceasingly while touching her throat, and I suspect that she's a plant from the opposition. Like I'd commit suicide for a fuck in a broom cupboard with her. In a meeting with Finance, he admires my notes, highlights and eye for detail. He might say that, but all those highlights and notes point out his errors. While he talks, I feel my eyes rolling backwards inside my skull to look inside. I close my eyelids because if I didn't he'd see nothing but two great pearls from the Lady's necklace in their place. What would be perfect is if I could be head of every department, because I am already, more or less. Nothing goes through without my approval, and wading through someone else's crap is a pain in the fucking arse. I'm admired for my commitment and determination and singlemindedness, but no one can do this job but me, I certain. This isn't a democracy, it just appears to be one.

* * *

In the middle of the night on the 26th, I'm in L's bed when the hospital calls me to tell me that Kiyomi has gone into labour. I go back to sleep. It's far too early for that kind of shit. I'd have to call security to pick me up or get L to drive me, just so I can watch a horror film from a vantage point at three in the morning.


	25. I Believe In Nothing But It's My Nothing

**Chapter Twenty Four**

**I Know I Believe In Nothing But It Is My Nothing  
**

* * *

There's a patch of blue over Tokyo in the distance, breaking up the grey sky. I think it's significant. I've brought blue skies for everyone in that city and beyond, but at a great personal cost. None of it's for me, never for me, as I knew it would be. There's always a price. This could be hell and maybe it is, because I know that I'd make the best out of hell and fit right in. I exchange my freedom for a better world for others, and while I look back on indulgent moments in my life fondly, I don't regret that there are so few of them, because it's right. I feel so little most of the time I wonder whether I force everything out because it makes living easier. God help me if I turn into L and content myself with what's easier.

Then it starts to rain - one of those light drizzles which weighs leaves down over time and makes everything look plastic - and this convinces me to have a shower and go through my routine with a clear mind. The house is drowning in the unearthly quiet of the early morning, apart from when L moves in the bed occasionally. He sighs in his sleep as I put on my socks, but I try not to look at him for too long. Somewhere, I imagine tiny, bloody hands scrabbling their way out of Kiyomi. I hope that by the time I get there that it'll be over and everything will be clean and pale-skinned, like a courier just delivered the baby we ordered. When I switch my phone back on, there's five missed calls from my mother-in-law, six from my mother, one from Sayu and then some angry text messages, again from Sayu. I skip the familial voicemails and find a message from one of my secretaries to tell me that Finance has died in a car crash overnight. Ok. There'll be a funeral later in the week at the earliest and I have a suit for that. There needed to be a reshuffle anyway and it's not like it's a surprise; every time I saw him, he told me about his heart complaint.

I open the front door to catch a glimpse of my security guard open and step out of the passenger side of the car in the driveway. They're silently efficient now, after months of reworking and reprogramming them. It might have been easier to pull them all in for a meeting at the start, but it's better to find level ground through practice. They don't speak to me, ever. I wonder if they gossip about my unusual patterns of life and laugh amongst themselves about how I'm L's bitch. People who inspire envy usually receive that kind of childish slaughter when they're not present. I have to be more careful. I must make them friends of mine. I must buy them dinner and talk to them about manly sports and cars. I must remember their names. I smile at the guard and he seems taken aback by my sudden friendliness. His eyes dart away from me as I open the door wider to step outside.

"Bye then."

L disappears into the kitchen. Always fucking naked. I consider just leaving, but I close the door and follow him instead.

"Kiyomi's in labour," I tell him from the doorway. He looks up at me for a elongated second like I've told him that there's been a horrendous catastrophe which has left thousands dead. Then he goes back to the coffee filter.

"Already?" he asks. I don't reply. I don't know if he thinks Kiyomi's gestation period was supposed to be like an elephant's. "Do you want me to drive you there?"

"No. Security are outside."

He peeks through the blinds and smiles to himself sourly. "Oh, so they are. Well, congratu -"

"Finance has gone and killed himself. Could you write a press statement when you get to work as a matter of urgency?"

"How did he die?" he asks after another second's pause before he spoons coffee into the machine. I'm glad that he accepted this sideswipe in conversation. I think of Finance dead in a car somewhere. Probably in the morgue now waiting for an autopsy by some bored pathologist who's drinking coffee on the sterile metal bed of a table before he sharpens his knives and saws. I used to think of L dying in a car crash. I wanted something violent to rip him from the world, and it was beautiful in my head.

"Car crash."

"Well, that saves me one problem. I heard yesterday that he was going to defect."

"Finance?"

"Hmmm. I was going to speak to him today and talk him out of it. It was over your bill," he says, looking up in his calmness to barely focus on me after what sounds like an accusation. Finance is dead because he didn't agree with me. He's dead because he'd rather betray me, and Fate wouldn't let that happen.

"I thought he supported it," I murmur. I did, truly. He was one of those who mentioned it the most, though always in an interested, approving way. That should have been a warning sign to me, and L obviously thinks that. He smiles again to himself as the machine percolates water through coffee and growls into some frenzy of duty.

"Don't trust people. I'll see you later, maybe. Do you think you'll be free for lunch? There's a new pâtisserie chef in... you know where the Giger Bar was years ago? Near there. He's got rave reviews and he's actually done an apprenticeship with one of those Roux people, so he might be good. I like Tokyo a lot less since all the best chefs died or left the country."

No, he never did find a replacement for his favourite pâtisserie chef.

"I don't know yet. I'll call you," I say, already on my way out. As I open the front door and see my security guard still standing there, waiting, L's voices carries loudly behind me to see me out.

"Send my love to Kiyomi. Tell her that I've been looking after you."

* * *

This wasn't going to ever be a charming first meeting with my son, because I feel like a disharmonious chord fighting against the orchestra even before I get to the hospital. I'm dazed but annoyed, aggrieved, wondering how I got to this point in life with no injury and no real reason to see the inside of a hospital in a non-work capacity until now. My priorities are set and all this must come before work because apparently things like this come before my country, that much I know. Other people don't have important work to do like I do though, and they don't have the dedication to their job, like I do. They'll use any excuse they can for a day off, and that's just one of the ways in which I differ from other people.

Now that I'm here, I'm escorted up the steps of the hospital and past the journalists outside. They've been camping out there for weeks, I think, because they've been waiting for this moment. All these frustrated art photographers and novelists who can't shit a story or a good photo out, so they embellish real stories where art and talent is not necessary instead. The trick I use so I don't laugh at them is to look at the steps and avoid all eye contact. Although I told myself that I should smile and look like a thrilled father when this moment arrived, I just can't bring myself to do it. I can't stand the thought of seeing photographs of myself looking like a idiot on the front pages, so instead I try to look proud and set apart. If you think a certain way, chances are that you'll look that way, and I _am_ set apart. People shout questions at me. They ask me how Kiyomi is, do I have a boy or girl? What's their name? Who am I wearing? I don't answer any of these questions. My guards form a moving wall around me, pushing microphones away so I can pass through unimpeded.

Once in the hospital lobby, I pause for a moment, and people stop in their tracks to stare at me. Patients sit in their chairs with their injuries waiting for treatment, nurses and doctors clutch clipboards to their chests, and I look up to the glass dome above me, just to take myself out of here and get my thoughts together. I must prepare myself for how I must act, but I can't help but think that this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, and I did it to myself.

Then I'm in an elevator, and what has been happening to me lately happens again: I find myself in a place with no recollection of getting there. Nothing major, just a few steps and a few seconds. There are missing slices of my life, like I dematerialise and rematerialise somewhere else, but I don't put much thought into it. I think that my brain must switch off temporarily due to boredom. So, I'm in an elevator because apparently there's a need for speed, but I can think of nothing but sex. Locked in a cage in a place of sickness with three men. It's presumed that I'm so eager to see my wife and child that I can't take the stairs. The stairs are a security hazard, I'm told.

I walk towards Kiyomi's room and see her sister and mother in the distance. Still everyone looks at me, judging me, or just shocked at this happy twist of fate which has allowed them to breathe the same air as someone as important and well known as me. I walk past my in-laws without a glance in their direction, which must shock them into silence. Then I'm alone in Kiyomi's room while my guards wait outside. I see the expanse of white laminated tiles first, the faint smell of bleach burns my nostrils, and Kiyomi is sitting up in a white bed looking only slightly deflated, which disappoints me. In all other ways though, she looks like how she was when I first saw her. Painted and powdered and sweet-smelling and inviting you in for consideration. She looks up at me and smiles slightly. A little way away from her, I see the cot by the window. A brutal, communist looking thing, like a pig trough on a stand, padded out with cheap, easy to wash white blankets.

"Well done," I tell Kiyomi. Her smile almost completely obliterates her face until she picks up her nail file again to concentrate on that. I almost laugh at her.

Instead, I approach the cot slowly until the pink, balding head covered in wispy hairs comes into view, and the screwed up, dissatisfied face. He looks like he's been in a bath for so long that he's disfigured and swollen. The crown of his head looks soft and I see a pulse beating strongly under the skin, but I see him and I feel nothing. After almost expecting instant cup-of-soup love, it didn't happen. My life is unchanged. Or, if anything, I've lost something. I've forfeited something which as as yet unfathomable for this boy, and I feel the expectation already from him, from Kiyomi, from everyone, but I feel no connection to this bundle of splayed limps. I feel pity for it when I should love it and be amazed by the tiny hands which I created. He might as well belong to someone else.

"How did it go?" I ask him, then look to Kiyomi a little too late.

"I had all the drugs," she smiles dimly.

"Good."

"What do you think?"

"He looks ok," I say. It's all as I imagined it would be: disinterest on everyone's part. I leave the cot to sit next to Kiyomi on a very unstable-looking folding chair. I tug my trousers up from the knee to avoid unnecessary wear.

"Sachiko said that he has your eyes," Kiyomi tells me amiably. I don't know if he does; I haven't seen them and I don't really care, but Kiyomi's relief to be physically her own again is almost something I can touch. "Isn't that such a cliché, standard thing to say? I don't see it, myself. All babies look the same - like little old men. Where were you? I told everyone not to bother you until the morning but they said you should be here. I thought they'd never leave, and even now they've only gone home to get changed."

"I was asleep."

"I said that you would be. No point you being here. I told them I didn't want anyone, but no one listens to me."

"Do you feel better?"

"Much better, thank you," she says. Her nail file scrapes against her ridges, and I wonder what her stitches must look like under these blankets and nightdresses. A mocking smile of a stitched line, I conclude. "They said that I can go home in a day or so. Are the press outside?"

"Yes."

"I don't know what to wear when I leave."

"White and blue."

"You think?"

"A dress. Maybe broderie anglaise or a floral pattern"

"Light, I'm not dressing like a mother."

"A mother they'd like to fuck," I grin slightly at her for a second, then look back at the cot.

"Would you?" she asks. The light catches on the gloss on her lips and on her teeth, the room seems oddly foggy and bright, and she looks out of focus. She complained to me a few weeks ago that people were treating her like a child, speaking to her like a child, and that I was the only one who treated her normally. 'When you said that I was an incubator, you were only saying what people are thinking but don't realise that they are. I'm still a person. I'm the same as I always was under all this,' she said. I brush her comment aside.

"You need to confuse them with opposites. A mix of innocence and prettiness so they're conflicted by that and that they want to fuck you, but you're unfuckable, if you get my drift."

"Because I'm with you."

"Mmm," I hum quickly and turn my cufflink until it's straight with the edges of my shirt cuff. "It's more complicated than that, but it's partly true."

It's quiet then. She lays her hands flat on the covers over her legs and I look again towards the cot, expecting some wailing which doesn't come. Being pulled out by doctors must be a tiring experience.

"Light, are you happy?" Kiyomi asks me.

"With you? Yes," I reply, and she smiles again in her prideful way, taking it as a confirmation of our compatibility instead of what I actually mean. "You've done well. We should name him."

"I think he looks like a Rei."

"No, Kiyomi."

"You decide then, with Rei as a middle name," she says, picking up a bottle of clear nail polish from a table beside her (perfect choice). Rei of fucking Light. It's going to happen. No, it's not.

"No -"

"Yes, but make it quick," she interrupts dismissively, striking long strokes along her nails like she's lighting matches. "The nurses are all looking at me like I'm a terrible mother because I haven't decided yet. It's not that important, is it? Haven't I done enough?"

I have to come up with something quickly or I'll be stuck with Rei.

"Akira," I say as a snap decision.

"Akira?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"That's far too common. Kira, maybe..."

"As in shiny? Glittery, sparkly, what? Fuck's sake, Kiyomi."

"No, as in 'light'. We'll use the character for light, not moon, like you, because that's silly. Kira. I like it." Yes, but you're an idiot. The idea of sort of naming my child after me horrifies and appeals to me. It suggests a lack of imagination but bags of dubious good humour, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. She's pulled out her phone and is searching for something on there. By this point though, I've lost all interest.

"He'll get bullied at school. As long as you're ok with him being bullied."

"Ha! It means 'dark' in another language. Oh, shut up, Light. You weren't bullied, so why should Kira? It's settled. God, I can't wait to get out of here. You know, the doctor said that I've lost weight. I think once this stomach problem has gone down, I should have dropped a dress size from what I was before I was pregnant. I mean he was nearly 8lbs."

"Oh. Is that normal?"

"I don't think so, but it's good, isn't it? I have to have some clothes taken in, but I'm really happy."

"I meant, is his weight normal?"

"Yes! Stop worrying! He's downright thuggish, if you ask me. Imagine giving birth to that. It wasn't fun, let me tell you." Well, technically, she didn't give birth to him because they cut her open. None of woman born. "Hello, Light? Earth to Light," she waves her hand at me. I must have drifted off, but then, I don't want to be here. I want to be at L's kitchen counter while he tells me how much rentboys charge for different things. "Anyway, Naomi and my sister are so jealous, you should see them"

"Because you've dropped a dress size?"

"That and because I'm a mother. It's not the same for men. I've accomplished everything which was expected of me, so now I can do what I want. We can have a life, Light."

She looks so earnest and desperate. My brain swims in its liquid-filled membrane. "I thought we had one."

"I mean holidays. And I could do more work with the charity, diversify, business, do a master's degree, like I wanted, anything. Or, I was thinking of running for Finance's constituency. You've heard about him, right?"

I snap back. My horror must be clear, because her face becomes guarded and resolute.

"Politics? Kiyomi, you can't go into politics." Sometimes you have to take a firm hand when people get carried away. This is such a terrible idea that I don't know whether she's joking. I'm not gullible, I just miss the joke sometimes.

"Why not?" she asks.

"You have to be a mother."

"I can be a mother _and_ have a career! Lots of women do it, and very well, actually, because we're more capable. It's male oppression which says that we can't, and it's all lies. I thought you'd be proud of me."

"You ca-"

I'm cut off by the screaming issuing from Sayu's mouth as she runs in the room, followed by Touta and my mother. I don't think they notice Kiyomi or me, they all rush to the cot to gaze at the new addition to the Yagami line, like they won't have enough opportunity to see him over years. There's very little to look at there; just 8lbs of a sleeping baby. If they put him in a room of babies, I wouldn't be able to pick him out of the crowd. My father comes in last, sees that the area around the cot is blocked to him, so peers over the top from his height, sees what he sees, then stands behind me. All this I see out of the corner of my eye, because I'm still staring at the changing, lying expressions on Kiyomi's face.

"HELLOOOOOOO! OH MY GOD HE'S SO CUTE! Touta, look!" Sayu screeches. I half want her to wake the baby up so I can see his eyes and whether there's any truth in my mother's reports. Touta nods his head in agreement with Sayu's statement of cuteness.

"Yeah, look at his little fingers!"

"Doesn't he look like Light?"

My father's hand sits heavy on my shoulder and I turn to him like he's a stranger. It's the first time anyone's dared to touch me this morning.

"Congratulations, you two," he says. His voice is deep from pride and a sleepless night. He used to sound like that when he came home from work late and my mother would wake me up so I could tell him what my grades were, which was annoying, repetitious, and quite insulting after a while.

"Thanks, Soichiro. How does it feel to be a grandfather?" Kiyomi asks him, beaming and maybe flirting, I don't know now. I stand up and my father's hand falls away from my shoulder..

"We'll talk later," I tell Kiyomi. Of course, this attracts everyone's attention.

"You're leaving?" she asks.

"I have to get to work."

"Light, you can't work today!" Sayu says accusingly. Unfortunately, I've never listened to her.

"My Head of Finance died overnight."

"I heard about an accident," my mother says. "He died? Light, I'm so sorry."

"Thanks, it's a real tragedy. I need to get into work to pass my sympathy on to his family."

"Was he married?"

"I presume so."

"That's nice of you and all, but so what?" Sayu asks me.

"So, I have to go in and officiate."

"Officiate?" she repeats after me. This is a new word to her, I can tell. Kiyomi pats me on the arm so I don't have to explain my job to my sister.

"Alright, darling. Call around later, if you can."

"Kiyomi!" Sayu shouts, hushing herself on the last syllable.

"The world doesn't stop for babies, Sayu. Light has to carry on working to make the world a better place for me and Kira."

That's the best excuse I've ever heard. I wish I'd thought of that. Can't stop, I have to make the world a better place for the children. I'll be late home tonight; I'm staying at L's so I can make the world a better place for the children. No, that doesn't really work.

"You're calling him Kira?" my mother asks. Oh yeah, and then there's that.

"Glittery?" Touta says. His eyes are wild with confusion and he looks back at the baby as if it might all suddenly make sense then. Kiyomi sighs and I sigh for a different reason. My watch says that I'm fifteen minutes late for work.

"No, as in 'light', "Kiyomi explains. " After his father."

"Oh! That's really sweet," Sayu tells us. "Isn't that sweet, Touta."

"Kira kira. Shiny shiny? Yeah."

"No. Light," Kiyomi says aggressively. What have I done wrong?

"What?"

"NO! Kira is... oh, forget it," she despairs, pulling a magazine from a pile beside her. We're on the cover., what a surprise. A break in the clouds blinds me with unadulterated white hot light for a second, then disappears again, leaving me with a view of the world which is bleached and faded.

"Well, I think that's a lovely name, Light," my mother says, smiling insipidly from the gathering around my son. My son. He's not mine though, he belongs to everyone and that's why I enabled his existence. People can watch him grow up from a distance as the son of Japan and try to replicate this perfect family using whatever they have to hand. Obviously they won't be as successful as me, but they can try. This is what they should aim for. I don't mean to congratulate myself for a job well done, but it's amazing what I can do when I put my mind to it. When we learned that Kiyomi was pregnant, I asked for the exact date of conception so I could try to remember that particular occasion. Kiyomi must have come into my room, and left pregnant, more or less. That's interesting to me. But their estimate wasn't and still isn't exact. Once I'd made my mind up, I let Kiyomi deal with the particulars, and I would appear for duty when the app on her phone said that I should. I quite liked how clinical it was. It felt like I was being called out to inseminate a prize-winning cow, and I suppose that's how it was, really. She was full of folic acid and I kept imagining that I could taste something metallic on her. By taking 0.4 mg of folic acid a day, the risk of spina bifida in the foetus is significantly reduced. It also reduces the risk of having a baby born with a cleft lip and palate, congenital heart disease, and the risk of premature labour. She also took iodine supplements, because she's not terribly fond of fish. Iodine is essential for brain development of the foetus, which was a great concern to me. Her diet was overhauled by a nutritionist, cutting out a lot of food that she did like, such as liver, shark, soft cheese and licorice. She also cut out eggs altogether, just to be safe. What irritated me about that is that she made such a big deal of it, and that my chef would make meals for both of us according to her diet. But now the result of those months is here, though no doubt the insane restrictions will continue. I'm overwhelmed by the feelings I apparently should feel, but don't. I suspect now that all fathers lie when they talk about the wonder of fatherhood, or else it's something which changes you gradually into a gibbering wreck of blind pride and devotion. That won't happen to me.

"Kiyomi chose it," I say, determined that everyone knows that this naming game is nothing to do with me. I'm ignored because Sayu is the loudest and most in need of attention. She falls all over herself at the contents of the cot.

"Aghhh, is he waking up? Helloooo Kira! He's waking up! No he's not. He's gone back to sleep again."

"Sayu, stop it," Dad tells her gruffly. "I agree, it's nice name."

"That's definitely settled then," Kiyomi says with finality, looking to me with a business-like expression. "Press release?"

"Not just for that, no."

I pick up my briefcase, button my jacket again and kiss her cheek quickly. I want to leave before my in-laws come in. They're probably outside gossiping to each other about how Kiyomi married below her status. New money. Actually, I just want to leave, but maybe my in-laws are something I can talk about to my guards to win their empathy. As long as I speak about it in a way which avoids any hint of criticism and discord. Even before I've left the room, my own family are talking about me.

"I thought he'd be a bit more excited."

"Your brother was never very demonstrative, Sayu."

* * *

My relief at leaving is instantaneous. I find that I can smile and answer press questions on the way back to my car, but I wish that I'd worn another suit. I should have gone back to the Kantei first to change into something more appropriate and less fitted to give a sense of casual excitement. Even my sister questioned my level of excitement, and it's because of my choice of suit.

A woman tries to get close enough to me to give me an Akita Inu dog figurine. At first, I don't really know why and pass her off as a nut in a good humoured way as I take her offering, then I remember that it's common to give these things to new parents as a good luck and health charm. She tells me that she bought it months ago for the birth of my baby, and wished me joy and all that shit. The statuette is glass and not wholly offensive to the eyes, since the dog is sitting down so you can't see his arsehole, but I dislike dogs unless they're used in real art and in an ironic way. I'm also given flowers from various women and children. A man pats me on the back as I walk past, and I want to ask them all why they're not in work and why their children aren't at school.

The glass dog sits next to me on the back seat, and after five minutes of thinking about it in the car, I decide that a baby won't change my life. That phone call in the middle of the night wasn't life altering and I am still myself having seen him. I'm not sinking into quicksand and nothing has changed. By the time I get to the office, he's become a generic baby and I can't think of anything unique about him. Maybe there'll never be anything unique about him, and my pride is slightly hurt at the thought. I'd like to think that I'd pass on something, but it'd be easier if I didn't. All I can hope for is that he's studious and quiet.

* * *

I miss lunch somehow. I rushed straight into my office and stayed there. My secretary gave a pile of congratulatory messages, cards, and yet more good luck charms, some of which smell awful, and I think that the less I'm seen today, the sooner this monumental occasional will dim in people's minds and I can avoid saying the same thing to people who stop me. My stomach groans and I looked up from my desk and to the clock on the wall to see that lunch is practically over. L didn't phone me to arrange a meeting, but then I did say that I'd call him. I didn't want to waste my time watching him gaze at dessert trollies anyway. I've completed a lot of work from further down on my priority list - some things which I've been leaving until such a time - and I've read Mikami's latest report. I've accomplished a lot.

The coffee my secretary brings me is bitter, burnt, unpleasantly smoky and horrible. It's also fairtrade, sustainable and from an independent business, so I advise all of my subordinates to go there. They also supply the Club, and I always have my coffee from there now. I must support local business. I must lower business rates for independents at some point, but it's not high on my list. If I give somewhere, I have to take from somewhere else. This is what people don't understand. They all think that the particular axe they're grinding is the most pressing concern and should the priority of the government, but I don't have a bottomless well of money in the treasury. I'd rather conserve and save. I prefer countrywide austerity to spending beyond our means and borrowing. When The Lady took over from the last government, they said: 'Good luck, there's no money left.' They were a lesson in how the country shouldn't be run, but The Lady favoured taking from public services and raising taxes which hit the lower classes, which is sure to result in civil unrest. I prefer to raise taxes for the rich and large companies. I have no desire to be their friend and it seems like common sense to me. I've been warned that this policy could drive the rich out of the country, but that doesn't bother me either. Each to his means. A strong economy will keep the country stable and I will force people who can afford to contribute, to do so. I might have to review this. I should encourage philanthropic acts, not penalise them for being successful, but rich people never want to part with their money. I hate the bastards. Unfortunately, they're usually better educated and more bearable. I look upon the lower classes as idiot children who never stood a chance, and I want to make sure that doesn't continue. I'm a harsh father.

So after a ten minute lunch, I take a shortcut through PR to meet Watari, catching sight of my reflection in the mirrored corridor. My suit is tighter across the shoulders. Imperceptible to others, no doubt, but I see it and my concern that swimming would have this effect has proven to be well-founded. I must speak with my personal trainer. He's taken so many steroids that there's nothing but testosterone and androstenedione in his skull, and he doesn't understand why I don't want to gain muscle mass, because he's a fucking idiot with massive tits. I'm very fortunate, I have excellent genes and I'm thankful to my parents for putting so much thought into their partners before they bred. Why would I ruin what I already have to have a head which is too small for my body? Yes, he's a fucking idiot. I bet that he votes for some racist minor party and pulls trucks in his spare time.

I drift through PR at quite a pace because my life circles around meetings, like I'm in a video game and each meeting is a level I must pass. My reward is sleep. Wherever I walk, there is a sudden silence and if I stand still for any length of time people start approaching me, so I try never to do that. There is always a feeling of stillness and the eternal to me, I'd like to think, but ultimately, I'm always moving somewhere. I rush through into the safety of the stairwell and am just turning the curve in the staircase when the door opens again. I automatically prepare to rush so I can avoid whoever it is, but slow to a stop when I hear someone who's not unwanted.

"Always running somewhere, aren't you?" a familiar voice calls up to me from the bottom step. I look over the plastic banister which I normally don't touch because they're so unhygienic.

"Hi," I say awkwardly, looking down on L with half a flight of stairs separating us. He also looks awkward, but smiles up at me with his asymmetric grin. He looks more perfect in his imperfection to me, after the day I've had so far. He's a sort of rolling tide you can't trust or rely on. The only reason I haven't drowned yet is because I've read him correctly and because he likes me enough not to sweep the air from me completely.

"I saw you walk through the department. I mean, I heard all the office girls squeal, so I knew that it must be you."

"I have a meeting with Watari. I was just cutting through, otherwise I would have called in."

"It's ok, you don't have to explain yourself to me," he says, looking at his feet, which he shuffles almost shyly. I don't know what changed in the hours since I last saw him, but something must have happened to make him so unsure of me and of himself. "I only followed you because I thought: 'He'll take the stairs. He's here for the stairs.' And you were. I have to get my kicks from somewhere. Mine is but a small life."

"It gets pretty sedentary in this place."

"Yeah? Can't say that I noticed. Sorry to hold you up. You go."

I feel my body lurch forwards to obey him, because I do have places to go.

"I can see you at four if you get rid of Mihael," I tell him, taking a few slow steps down instead, while he takes a few steps up. I lean over the banister and feel him take hold of my wrist. I try to draw away again, but he pulls back my jacket to see the cufflink on my shirt. They're not his. His head tilts to one side, offset with a bitter smile, like he was expecting it. "I wear different ones sometimes," I say defensively.

"They go better with your suit." He strokes down my jacket cuff again. "It was sweet of you to ever wear them. I'll get you some platinum ones, like these."

"I don't need platinum anything. I like them as they are."

"Still, I think you'd prefer platinum."

"I... er."

"You have to go."

"Yeah."

"Are you a father?" he asks. I nod. "Congratulations," he says quietly. No one communicates disappointment quite like he does, so much that you feel guilty for nothing. "Really, Light. I'm very happy for you."

"Thanks."

"You look nice. Not that I notice those things either. You look the same as the first time I saw you."

"It's a different suit."

"Oh, yeah. I know that," he laughs awkwardly again. What's wrong with him?

"Why are you acting like this?"

"I can be nice sometimes. Ok, go, you little shit. Why can't you take a compliment like everyone else instead of making out like _I_ have a problem, Jesus Chri..." his voice trails off as he walks back into his department and the door cushions itself to a close. I smile.

* * *

And later – it's nearly three – I'm walking away from a quick talk with Mikami. He's given me a card from Naomi and himself (they signed their names individually to show that they're individually happy for me) and invited me for dinner one night at a French restaurant in Roppongi. I gave him some work to do. I smile at people as I walk and don't stop or even slow down until L walks up beside me, slightly out of breath.

"Hello again," he says. "Y'know, here's a thing. When I see you walking, I hear music."

"What music?"

"I don't know, but it's got a hell of a drum beat. I like your suit, did I tell you that already? You look very... Summery."

"It's air force blue. Vivienne Westwood."

"Well, thank you, Vivienne!" he laughs, raising an eyebrow. We sneak a glance at each other and I smile at my feet for a second.

"Calm down."

"I'm calm, Prime Minister, just a little nervous. I need to talk to you about something."

"If it's sex, I haven't got time," I whisper after checking behind me.

"But I've been a terrible person," he tells me, and I laugh at the idea that that's something new and which could be remedied. "I shouted at your Press Secretary," he continues. "Swore at him like a naval officer. I would suggest that I should be reprimanded like any other employee."

"Maybe later," I say, approaching my office. My secretary is enjoying her role as Head of the secretarial department of my office, but the truth is that I only gave her the promotion because she's the oldest and she's the only one who doesn't chew gum on the job. She stands up, which she always does like she's in the army, but follows it up with a message.

"Prime Minister, your father called. He'd like to speak to you this afternoon."

"Ok," I answer, opening the door to my office.

"Prime Minister, what you don't want is to be accused of being overly close with an employee of yours," L states. I hold the door handle and stare at him, wanting to put a hand on my hip for whatever trick he's going to try to pull. "You know how dangerous favouritism is and all you've done to avoid it. I couldn't live with myself knowing that you treat me differently because you value me above all others."

"I really haven't got the time right now, L. I told you that I'll see you at four."

"This is the most depressing moment of my life." He turns to my secretary who's still standing like a fool. "You, what do you think about this?"

"Me? I... I don't -"

"L, get in here," I say, opening the door wider for him to follow me inside. He closes the door behind me and self-satisfaction pours from him like sweat. "You just humiliated me in front of my secretary.

"Yes, but it was with love," he smiles at me, drawing up to me like a stalking, ravenous animal.

"I don't think you'll ever learn."

"Teach me."

"Even if I had all the time in the world, I couldn't. As it is, I have a lot of work to do and then I have to get back to the hospital."

"I didn't hear from you. It hurt me here," he says laughingly and dramatically places a hand over his heart. "Did you have a working lunch?"

"Yes."

"We have working lunches and you're not usually worried about them overrunning."

"Our working lunches are a little different."

"I'll say. I hope so, anyway. So, what's baby Yagami like?" he asks. I turn around to look at whatever memos, cards and gifts have been sent to me while I was out of the office and occupy myself with slitting letters open.

"He's... a baby."

"It's worrying me that you're not talking about him."

"I don't have anything to say. He's a baby, L."

"You should be proud. Shouldn't you be proud? I thought you might be. I thought you'd change."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"I'm no different from how I was last night."

"They all say that," he says as a fact. Who says that?

"And maybe they meant it. I do. There weren't any complications and it couldn't have gone more smoothly. Oh, but they'll be released from hospital soon."

"Ah."

"I'm sure we'll find some way to get around things."

"Hmmm. Have you named him yet?"

"Yeah. Kira. Don't," I tell him, putting up a hand before he starts, because his amusement is instant and brimming. I write the character on the back of an envelope and hand it to him. "Written like this."

"Very egocentric."

"No it isn't. They're not the same characters or anything, L. Kiyomi chose it. Akira's so common and -"

"It's a nice name," he nods to himself before handing the envelope back to me. "Kira Yagami sounds good, I'll send out another press release later on. I don't suppose you know the weight, do you? An editor asked me for the time of birth, name and weight,"

"I don't know exactly. A little under 8lbs. I don't know the time, I'm sorry."

"Right. Thanks. Well, don't let me keep you. You go back to being a little professional velociraptor. And don't worry about four o'clock. If you can't make it, you can't make it."

"What do you mean?"

"I came here for sex or something like it. No. Actually, I just wanted to talk to you, but I can see that you have things on your mind."

"L." I grab his arm and pull him back.

"Will I see you later? At my place, I mean."

"Do you remember when you'd turn up at my office and -"

"Yes. But will you be coming over later?"

"Of course. You can drive. I need to see Kiyomi, but I'll be back here for seven."

He smiles again, but his smiles aren't something you can trust as a sign that everything's ok. If anything, I often take them as a sign of the opposite. I feel things collapsing around me. I'm someone with baggage now, and I don't care about my baggage and complete life because it's nothing. It's a reminder of what I should be and what I'm not. It's a hole of perpetual sadness to me now, and a weight around my neck. If Kira and Kiyomi died it would be a solution and I'd probably bleed the public sympathy for all it's worth. I'd be glad.

"You don't look so different," he says, pushing my hair from my eyes.

"I'm not."

"You change. All of sudden sometimes. I was just checking."

"I don't know why you'd think I'd change; it's not a shock to me. I've been expecting it for a while now."

"Light, I know you and I know you'll change. Maybe not today or for years, perhaps, but you won't be able to stop it."

I laugh, turning my head to the side, but my laughter sounds empty and poisonous. I slip my wedding ring on and off my finger. "I'm not going to change. I'm not about happy about this. I went there to see him and you know what I thought? My first thought was this is the worst thing I've ever done. Who'd bring an innocent into this? I saw him and I... I think it's evil, what I've done. Because there's no reason for it."

"It's not ev-"

"Anyway, do you want to go for drink somewhere at four? The club? We should talk about Finance and... I'm not really sure what to do."

"About what?"

"We should look at houses. I hate your house and you hate your house. Get some property brochures, ok? But no shit, and nowhere too far from Tokyo."

"Ok," he says after a moment. I'm fucking this up so badly. School boy fucking errors - no smooth transition from one topic to another. Now his eyes are drifting over my collar and I feel so self-conscious that my skin is crawling with it. "Where were you when I was seventeen?" he asks.

"I was ten and I was probably at school."

"Ugh."

"Do you think that if you'd found me earlier then you could have spared me years of tragedy? Because you wouldn't. You would have been arrested."

"I wouldn't have known when you were ten, would I? I wouldn't even have known to make a mental note to check back on you when you were over the age of consent and capable of even slightly intelligent conversation. You would have been some little boy and that's all. No, I just wish that I'd met you earlier. Before this place did things to you and things aren't... the way they are."

"I think we met at the right time."

"It might have been different though."

"In what way?" I ask, and he doesn't seem to know how to answer me. The force of pushing thoughts to the back of my head or squeezing them to death gives me a headache. The waiting stretches out until neither of us can bear it any longer and he walks over to my tea maker, which I only use when I'm in the most dire need and my secretaries have gone home.

"I'll make you some tea," he says. Well I wasn't thinking that he was going to throw it out of the window. "Empires are built on it. Meetings be damned, we're having a cup of tea."

"Do you think I'm weird? For not... I'm glad everything's ok, but -"

"No. Underneath all your artificiality, you're the most real person I've ever met. I think if people were honest, they'd agree with you. I don't think being a parent can be all it's cracked up to be."

He says that so matter-of-factly that I feel immediately better about my own lack of emotion. It's not that they're not there, it's that they're not the right ones, or they centre around the wrong things and people, sometimes. I scratch behind my ear and sit on the edge of my desk to watch him watch the water in the clear pot bubble and boil and a click, pour it, and slowly stir two cups.

"Did you interview your serial killer?" I ask.

"The other day? Yes. Let's not talk about it if you'll make it unpleasant."

"I'm not going to. What was he like. Did you see death in his eyes?" I laugh.

"He was dead behind the eyes. Have you ever met a serial killer?"

"No."

"You must have, you just don't know it," he says, handing me a cup and stands opposite me again. "Probability would say that we might have passed them on the street and not known, talked to them and not known. You know why they're so fascinating to me, Light?"

"They're living the dream?"

"Sort of." He holds a square of his chocolate bar out towards me, and after I shake my head, he dunks it into his tea and speaks with his mouth full. "It's because, to be a serial killer, they have to be pretty good at what they do. It's like a career to them and there's no real emotion in it. It's the realisation of all their philosophies with no civilised restraint, because they are the most important thing in their world and rules don't apply to them. People are objects to be used and discarded. It shows a degree of intelligence, cunning and understanding of human nature to make themselves appear socially acceptable. People have an idea of what a serial killer is like - Ed Gein or Albert Fish, that sort of face - but they come in all forms. People defend them, not because they don't believe that they could be a murderer, but because they can't believe that they didn't realise and that they were liked them, had a beer with them, invited them over in the same house as their children. No one likes to be fooled. Do you fancy a change in career, Light?"

"You think that I'd make a good serial killer?"

"Yes, you'd be the best, I think. Maybe uncatchable."

"I can't quite take that as a compliment... So, what was he like?"

"Who?"

"The serial killer."

"He was very nice in a psychotic sort of way, but there's no need for him to pretend now, so he's just gone woohoo."

"I see."

"You mean, you don't mind that I'm still indulging my hobbies?"

"Why should I mind?"

"Oh," he nods for a second. "And how was Bethlehem? Did you like the myrrh that one of the kings brought you?"

"L, it's alright. I don't mind."

"You don't? Am I still drunk?"

"You're always going to want to fraternise with abhorrent people. As long as it's for your own perverted satisfaction and not to defend them in court, it's fine by me."

"This must be bliss. Are you sure I'm not drunk?"

"I don't know, how much did you drink last night?"

"Only a glass of red with you."

"This morning?"

"I never drink in the morning, Light. Not on a work day."

"I'd say you weren't drunk then."

"If life was always like this, I wouldn't have to drink. So, are you going to discipline me or what?"

"Not."

"Are you forcing me to bring out the big guns?" he asks provocatively. His cup chinks against the button on his sleeve cuff.

"That's not necessary. I know it well."

"That's a terrible joke, Light. Really offensive. Your sense of humour is so immature, when you do have one. But further to your comment, you've only experienced my gun during friendly fire."

I laugh and it's so unexpected that it's more of a bursting flood of laughter. What's nearly as unexpected is that L kisses me suddenly, and it's all unprepared and shocked mouths as far as I can tell. That and chocolate, so he must quickly regret it.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Don't apologise. I like it when you do that. I just need a bit more warning sometimes."

"No." He swipes his thumb at the corner of my mouth. "I got chocolate on your face."

I breathe out another laugh and push his hand away, then I jump up as a reflex to seeing my fucking dad standing in the doorway. Fucking fuck!

"Dad!"

"The door was open. Your secretary told me that you were expecting me," he says. Oh God, what did he see? Why can't anyone fucking knock? Why do I bother having a door if everyone feels like they can just walk on in? That 'my door is always open' line is just a line, no one actually means it. There's no roo for subtlety in life when it's full of cretins who believe open door policies. No, I need to calm down. He didn't see anything. I can make this into nothing.

"But... ok."

"Your mother wanted me to drop these off for Kira."

He holds up a paper bag, so I walk over to him to take it. I suppose that I should, but I _really_ should do what I want. This is nothing. This is nothing. Not yet.

"Babygros?" I ask, looking inside. "God, we're up to our necks in these things already. Could you tell her thanks but we're ok for them now?"

"Yagami-san, it's nice to see you again," L says, bowing in my father's direction as I walk back past him. "I'm -"

"I remember you, Lawliet-san."

"Once seen, never forgotten," I say to ease the tension. Dad just doesn't like L and that doesn't matter. It's nothing to do with L kissing me and me saying that I like it when he does that, which suggests that we've done it before. And we're not nine, so people would presume that we've probably done a lot more than getting chocolate on each other's faces. And I laughed... No, at most he must have only seen me pushing L's hand away. Me sitting on a desk and having a cup of tea with my work colleague and friend to celebrate the birth of my son. Yes. I want to crack his head open and see what he saw. Without knowing, all I can do is act like nothing happened. I want to tell him when my mother's in the room, because her almost drug induced coma of a personality will smooth everything out. Nothing matters. I should work hard and do what makes me happy, she'd say. I shouldn't think of my mother like that because she's my mother. It's not a flaw in her exactly. It's made life easier for me than it could have been. The point is that I could construct things so they'd understand and not care about what I do with my life, just be thankful that I'm here. I need L, he's necessary, I've been waiting for him my whole life.

"I'm Light's PR," L explains to him.

"He's a good friend," I add, like this needs annotation notes. "L, I'll call around your office later and we'll discuss things in more detail."

"Discuss what in more detail?"

"Disciplinary action." L bows his head to both of us and leaves quickly, but then I'm left with my father and a void and a bag of babygros. "Are you ok, Dad?"

I sit on the desk again like that's something I do now, so at least that won't be questioned. I'm listening and I'm open to questions as long as they're the right questions which are delivered in a respectful way. Kiyomi said that she thinks my dad's attractive for an older man. I have no idea about that. Maybe he's the sort of man that women fantasise about fucking on an empty train without a word being said between them, I don't know. I don't understand women and I don't want to to that pointless degree, but Kiyomi likes Nancy Friday and I read the blurb to one of her books once. It left me even more confused. When women start talking about sexual liberation, my eyes glaze over. Anyway, I don't know what my father is, he's just thick and solid like a tree with fucked eyes and salt and pepper hair.

"I didn't know he was your PR. I thought he was a lawyer," he says. He's blocking me in until he computes fully, and that will never happen. I realise then that I've never been told off by him or my mother about anything, but that it looks like I'm going to be told off now, at this age.

"He's a barrister. The best in the country. He has his own firm, but he works for me as well. We're very lucky to have him. He worked for The Lady, you know that. You know him from a case a few years ago, don't you?"

"He wanted some confidential reports and evidence."

"I heard."

"A bullet cap from forensics."

"Well, I'm sure he had his reasons for asking. I'm sorry, Dad. I'm a bit busy this afternoon but -"

"He doesn't have a good reputation in the force, Light."

"The force doesn't have a good reputation," I smile antagonistically, and see the anger rush to his face. I'm the one who should feel angry. People barge into my rooms all ready to judge me, and there's a reason I keep doors closed. Nobody has access but they try to bulldoze in anyway. "He's a state counsel. Is there anything else? I have to be somewhere in... oh, now."

"What did I see then, Light?"

I hear nothing but white noise after he speaks, but then my reliable feeling of blankness with an undercurrent of pure rage saves me again.

"I don't now. What did you see, Dad?" I ask.

And that's it. I can tell that whatever he saw, he won't press the issue. He reaches into his pocket and draws two tickets from his wallet.

"Um... I wondered if you wanted to come with me to a motor rally on Saturday."

"A motor rally? Ha, well, no, thanks. I think it's a waste of natural resources and glamorises dangerous driving, and the security issues would be more trouble than they're worth. We could do golf sometime. You and mum should stay at my place in the country. Someone should use it."

"I think you should spend more time with your family. At a time like this, you need family around you."

"At a time like this? Yeah, it'd be nice, but I really don't _have_ the time. I'll check my diary and maybe we can work something out."

"I think we need to have a talk about responsibility and what it is to be a father, Light. I remember when you were born and I -"

"Well done for remembering, Dad, but you know who I am. I think I know about responsibility."

"Now's the time to start pulling away from your friends to concentrate on family. Having Kira in your life will be a big shock to you. Your priorities change."

"Don't be so patronising."

"I'm not pat-"

"Excuse me," I say so I can check a text message which has just dinged timely into life on my phone. The Finance Department want to know where I am. I have to give them a pep talk and assign someone to take over duties until the reshuffle. "I really have to go," I explain to my dad's stoic face, pushing myself way from the desk. He better get out of my way.

"You need to know what to expect," he tells me, unmoving.

"Look, you don't have to tell me. Kiyomi's had a baby. There is a baby. Your take on parenting was not to be there much. It didn't affect me, Dad. It instilled a work ethic in me and I'm grateful. It didn't have the same effect on Sayu, but that's Sayu. So, there's a baby but it's not going to radically change my life. Now, I really have to go."

I walk around him so I can reach the door. I find it odd that he hasn't thought to ask me about my office. He probably thinks it came with the job. Sometimes I forget about it, myself. Sometimes I think the whole world is one big box like this.

"Light... my son."

Honest to God, I think he needs to say that to remind himself that I am his son sometimes. It lost all effect on me decades ago.

"Is this because of L?" I ask him. Maybe we should have this out and then later we can decide that I was just tired and not thinking properly.

"What? No."

"Because he's my friend and you don't like that. Would you choose different friends for me?"

"I'd reconsider having him as your PR because, from what I know of him, he's not trustworthy."

"You met him once and I'm sorry that you got a bad impression of him, but I do trust him. Please, _please_, don't come in here unannounced and tell me who my friends should be and how I should act."

"I only want to give you some advice -"

"Did I ask for your advice, Dad? I'm sorry, I have to go."

* * *

And I don't see L at four. He sends me a text message to cancel while I'm sorting the fucking catastrophe which turns out to be Finance, but he doesn't give a reason. They're basically dancing a tap dance routine in there, so it's no wonder their Head died.

I call L's office but he's not there and Mihael cautiously dodges the subject with a pretence of ignorance. He picks me up at seven and we don't talk about it. We don't talk about the hospital, we don't talk about my father. On Thursday, Kiyomi and Kira are released from hospital.

* * *

After Questions, Watari asks if he can speak to me. He's the sort of man who fumbles his way to the point, like a driver without any form of navigation and road signs, and this takes time I don't have. But, to save procrastinating in favour of an alloted space of time for a meeting which I also don't have time for, I stand in the Kantei office lobby and listen to him ramble on. I hope that there is a point to this, though I don't expect that it's as important as he thinks. It's about Finance and the Shadow's Deputy, who died yesterday. I despised him. He was a good speaker, when given the opportunity, but his views were xenophobic and his policy ideas unrealistic. Because he was a good speaker though, there was a worry that he would take over as leader of the opposition. These two deaths are nothing to write home about, but it has an unfortunate consequence which I'm hearing all about from Watari at this very moment. I'm currently trying to convince him that the 'curse' isn't back because there is no such thing, only natural causes, murders and accidents. We both shut up when L sidles up. Fuck, he's wearing Dior. I try not to look at him beyond a welcoming shallow bow.

"How are you, Watari?" L asks. "You're looking well (he doesn't). I hope you don't mind if I steal the Prime Minister from you."

"We can talk later. Five, maybe?" I suggest to Watari. I don't think I can take any more in one sitting.

"No, no, it's alright. It wasn't anything important," he says, bowing to both of us. I watch him go and wonder if he'll ever retire.

"What was that all about?" L asks me.

"Stupid old fool thinks the curse is back."

"Well, I have to say, it did cross my mind."

"L, I thought you were more sensible than that."

"I said that it crossed my mind. It crossed and passed. Two in less than a week though, not good."

"No, not really. Pain in the arse. Two deaths means two funerals."

"I like funerals," he leans in to tell me in confidence.

"I do too. Anyway, try and damp down all this curse shit, will you?"

"I'm on it, don't worry."

"Shall we?" I ask, opening a door to the empty reception waiting room. We step inside and I shut the door behind me. "Look, now Kiyomi's out of hospital, we need to think of alternatives."

"For what, pray?"

"Be serious. I won't be able to stay at yours for a while at least, so I was thinking of hotels," I say, waving an ever so bored hand. "Meetings."

"How cheap. Legal meetings, maybe."

"Yes, just make it official. Wednesday's a good day for me. In the afternoon."

"Does this mean that I won't see you apart from on Wednesdays?"

"No, but we cant afford anything too risky. It's more difficult now Kiyomi's back, but it's only for a couple of months."

"I wish the curse went after politician's wives as well."

"You want her dead?"

"Don't you?"

"Yes," I say without thinking. It's a dream of mine, but it wouldn't solve everything. L would have to piss off and come back with a different face, a vagina, a dress, and a name like Mitsuko. However, he finds my answer amusing.

"You shouldn't, Light. She's your wife and the mother of your child."

"I know, I.. I don't want her to die. Stop fucking confusing me," I say, slapping his arm grumpily when he laughs.

"It's ok. I don't want her dead either, it'd just be easier for us, that's all. But then you'd have sole ownership of Kira and I don't want a baby in my house."

"L, he's not a car."

"Did I say ownership? I meant custody. Sorry."

"I have a meeting. So, I'll leave the hotel thing with you. Book a conference suite with an adjoining bedroom because you need to stay in Tokyo overnight. Make sure you tell them that."

"Well I wasn't going to book the honeymoon suite."

"Maybe I should do it."

"No, no, leave it with me."

"Official, L. Put it on expenses."

"I can do official. I've done official before. I've booked conference suites in hotels before. I used to have legal meetings with The Lady all the time."

"Ok," I say, only slightly appeased.

"Ok," he smiles. Job done, I leave him and the room and to go back into the now deserted lobby. I'm just beginning to climb the stairs when he shouts after me: "So I'm not to mention that we'll be fucking there then?" causing me to spin around and nearly lose my balance. I grab hold of the railing to stop me falling while he laughs at me from the doorway. He practically doubles over from laughing and I really, really want to go back into that reception, lock the door, fuck him, kill him, and bury him under the begonias. "I'm sorry," he says, "it's just your face. Don't worry about it, really. I promise that I'll order coffee and not champagne and strawberries."

* * *

I've taken to phoning his office now during work hours instead of his phone. Something stationary and somewhere he should be, no excuses. It's the only way to keep proper tabs on him, because my mind still drifts back to the day when he wasn't in his office and I never asked him about it. It angers me that he feels that his work hours are loose enough that he can do anything he fucking pleases. Ultimately, I'm responsible for him, and I think the state deserve their money's worth. The truth is, I have every reason in the world to be suspicious of him, and he's not where he should be. When I phone his office at five, Mihael says that he's at the House for a meeting. I have to go back to the Kantei anyway, I've decided, so I cancel Watari and phone House reception. What do you know? He hasn't checked in. I can't take my eyes off him for a fucking minute. I drive through the tiers of the Kantei car park, see L's car, park a little distance away between two sedans, and wait. I'm determined to stay there for as long as it takes. He uses this car park whenever he's in town because of the free parking, even if he's not on official business, because he's a greedy, shitfaced little fuck.

I wait for an hour and try to do some work while I wait, but I have to keep checking the door to this floor so I don't miss his reappearance, so it's a wasted hour. When he does turn up, he's with Stephen. I feel sick with anger, but the saving grace of this is the incomparable high of being right. They walk past my car, I wind down my window slightly so the sound will carry, and L laughs in that not really amused way he does, because he turns his face away from Stephen as he laughs. Stephen clasps his hand on L's shoulder and L physically leans to one side from the weight of it. I don't need to hear their conversation, but I can't ignore the opportunity.

"I switched to decaff so it's not really a problem anymore," L tells him. Stephen's in a permanent state of hilarity, like he's on nitrous oxide. He's wearing... God know's what. Thrift store chic? Some black sweater and black trousers like he thinks he's Johnny fucking Cash. I can't see his shoes over the car bonnet, but I'm sure they're shit. He's had a haircut and is obviously trying desperately to look attractive.

"You have a noble head," he says. Fuck's sake, why doesn't somebody kill him for the sake of humanity? Maybe I should. I don't know why I haven't.

"Well, thank you!" L replies. You fucking bastard.

"So, how are you really?"

"I'm fine, I wasn't lying. And you? Were you lying?"

"No, I'm still good... I like your hair." L had a haircut last week. He also went to the dentist's to have a filling and was in such a foul mood that I kept out of his way all day, but Stephen doesn't compliment him on his fillings, does he? No. He doesn't have to put up with that. Never trust people who don't put any effort into their hair but still tumble out of bed looking like they're in a shampoo advert. It's not natural or fair.

"Thanks. I was born with it."

"Ha!"

"No, really. I was born with a full head of hair and it never fell out like with other babies."

"That's special," Stephen simpers. Flattery with L is tried and tested, and if you pitch it right, chances are you'll wake up the next morning in his bed. I know Stephen's game. Why not punt for L again? He's rich and has a lot of equity security, and Stephen's homeless and living with a friend of _mine_. God, I hate the marrow of his bones.

"I wouldn't say that," L says.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go for a drink sometime?"

"I don't think that's a good idea Stephen."

"Are you seeing someone else?"

"Sort of."

"Oh."

"Doomed, of course."

"Of course."

"It always is," L laughs, again swimming in fake as he leans on his car. I can just about see them through the interior of the car next to me, and all I see is someone who can be bought for the right price, and someone else who has empty pockets. I look at them like I'm a sniper. Stephen shuffles on the spot and looks at the floor. It's all very sweet and disgusting.

"I've been waiting for you," he says.

"You shouldn't."

"Well, whoever he is, I hope he's worth it."

"He is. I'm not."

"I never understood why you don't like yourself."

"Are you kidding me? I love myself."

"Yeah," Stephen says, nudging L's shoulder. "Well, I guess it's about time I picked up the last of my things."

"No rush. Whenever, as I said. Between seven and ten, Monday to Saturday, but not Fridays. Or Saturdays, actually. Or Tuesdays. Let me know. Hey, let me give you a lift," he offers, opening his car door. Oh that is fucking _it_! No one ever gives lifts to exes. It gives them completely the wrong idea.

"Will you come in for a coffee? Naomi has decaff."

"I can't. I-"

"No, then. No lift if you won't have a coffee," Stephen smirks.

"Ok, I'll have a coffee. Just get in the car and stop being so bloody annoying."

"You really like me, don't you?"

"No."

"Yeah you do."

"No I don't."

"How can you not like me. I'm a likeable guy."

"You're like a lemur. I like lemurs when I see them in a zoo for five minutes, but I don't want one in my house."

"Oh," Stephen sighs, holding the passenger side door open.

"No, that's not true. You're not a lemur," L sighs. Honestly, I could shoot them. I could drive into them and keep crushing them and say that it was an accident, then go back home, sleep peacefully for eight hours and answer any questions in the morning.

"So, you do like me still?" Stephen asks.

"You're ok when you're not asking me if I like you or not."

"You like me."

"Get in the car and shut the fuck up."

I've heard enough anyway. Same old boring conversations with the same wreathes of creamy flattery which L accepts willingly. Once Stephen gets in and shuts the door, I start my car and I drive past L, who watches my car go.

And nothing is said of it. I expect a message but I don't get one. No explanation.

* * *

Punishment is for ordinary people. I'm above that. When I realise what I'm thinking of doing, and that if anyone else did it I'd think it was abhorrent, but this is my conclusion: I'm above that. Why should I be constrained by the same laws as other people? I'm God, he told me because he knew. It was that obvious that not even he could ignore it. B told me once that I love to be hated and I hate to be loved and I love to be feared, just like L. And L's love and hate is necessary to me. I am unyielding and remorseless. A sadistic and mercurial vitriolic arbiter who would cut your throat to drink your blood. I am the emotionless pestilence and the saviour - the one true justice. I am the ram's head knocking down your door. I desire attention and only attention to feed on and to be consumed by. I despise authority because I am the authority. I am effortlessly right and superior. I don't feel the things you feel, I don't see things the way you see them. There are no pastel colours and no rainbows, all flowers are dying, all people are already dead. I am not human.

* * *

More silence on both sides over the weekend. I've seen Kira's eyes and they're his eyes, not mine. Someoe could have swapped him since the last time I saw him and I wouldn't know the difference. He cries; I found that out on the first night. I've since had my bedroom and home office soundproofed.

I haven't even started work yet, but I'm in the building and on my way to my office. People are dribbling in, still half-asleep, but they perk up when they see me like I am the sun, their reason for living, the giver of life. I feel sick all of the time. I've forgotten what it feels like not to have this heavy weight in the very core of me.

It was a standard, easy start to the day, like breaking in a pair of shoes you've already worn a few times, but I hear Kiyomi's clipping heels on the wooden floors before I hear her voice, but she doesn't know that. I continue walking. Distance isn't something she likes unless it's on her terms, and distance and isolation was imposed on her during her confinement, so she's taken to following me around a lot since she got back. I don't care anymore. I'm looking forward to and dreading my meeting with L this afternoon, and that takes up a lot of my thoughts. A friend of Touta's - a civil servant from the same department who's been recently reallocated and has a very prominent Adam's apple - holds the door open for me.

"Light, wait!"

"Mrs Yagami!" the man says, "Let me get that for you. We don't see you much in the offices. You're like a breath of fresh air." Oh shit, he shouldn't have said that.

"You mean because I'm female? Or because I'm an attractive female?" she asks. Every time I see her now, my eyes are immediately drawn to her stomach steadily deflating over the days. She still looks presentable though, in a strange way.

"Uh... Well, -" he stutters.

"You didn't open the door for that woman a minute ago, but you did for me. Don't you think that's a bit inconsistent?"

"I didn't see her."

"Yes, you did. Is it because of who I'm married to?"

"I really didn't mean anything by it."

"What do you think, Light?"

"Don't bring me into this. I think you can fight your own battles," I say, and leave. Because I leave, she leaves, but only after telling the poor bastard that she can open doors for herself, thank you very much. Women never complain when I hold the open for them, but I'm good looking, and he's not - that's the difference. When I hold the door open for someone: the elderly, the infirm, the pregnant, people carrying heavy loads, or just women because we're still brought up to think that it's polite and that they're at a disadvantage because they're women, even the burly feminist dykes, it puts a smile on their faces, probably all day. Because they recognise that I'm lowering myself. I noticed this when I was about fifteen.

"Light, what do you think of these?"

"What?" I say, but it sounds like more of a lazy snap. She points at her feet and the stilettos with steel heels that she's wearing. I see them and think of knives = B = L. Everything leads to the same place. "Yeah, they're fine." I carry on walking and she tries to keep up. Part of me wants to slow down for her, the other part of me wants to run just to make her run. "Was that a lesson in equality or do you just not like him?"

"A bit of both. I wanted to check that we're still ok for tonight."

"Oh, that. What are you going to wear?" I ask. I stop at the door to my department because I don't want her to come in with me. It'll be difficult to get her out of my office once she's there. She crowds me, smiles and watches her hands spread over my chest, disturbing the straight drop of my tie. "Um... Kiyomi?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm admiring my husband."

"Someone needs a lesson in equality," I say. The elevator doors open and we both look towards the people starting to herd out before she turns back to me laughing.

"Red," she says. "I was going to wear red."

"That's a bad colour."

"It suits me. In a non-political context, it's my favourite colour."

"I didn't know that."

"Now you do. Did you hear Kira screaming in the night?"

"No."

"Like a demon."

"Was he ok?"

"Babies scream, Light. Usually over nothing," she tells me. Babies scream over nothing, and I don't think that ever changes.

"I know," I say, grabbing her hands to stop her from this entitled molestation.

"You only see him when he's asleep," she says teasingly. "I'm getting very fond of him, but then he starts screaming and I'm so thankful that we hired a nanny."

"I'm thankful that my room is pretty much soundproof."

"I'm sleeping in your room from now on then."

"That kind of defeats the object of having separate rooms. Anyway, I'm told that they grow out of that in about thirty-odd years."

She laughs again and strokes her hand along the length of my tie. I notice L outside the elevator, but I don't know whether he's there for that or if he was on his way to see me. Within my closed mouth, I run my tongue along my teeth and it settles against a squeaky clean, flossed, minty molar. Kiyomi sees me staring at something and turns around to find out what it is. "Oh, there's Lawliet!" she says, waves at him, and turns back to back to whisper conspiratorially. "Here's a mission for you. You make sure he comes to this concert tonight and I'll invite Stephen."

"I don't think -"

"Never mind, I'll do it. Lawliet!" she calls out, but he's already leaving, rounds the corner and is out of sight. Kiyomi has probably never experienced people willfully ignoring her, and she's stuck to the spot, completely mystified. "Oh, that's strange."

"It's nine o'clock, Kiyomi. He probably has work to do."

"He's a funny man. He was at Naomi's the other day and he didn't even say goodbye when he left."

"Why was he at Naomi's?" I ask. Coffee. No. Sex, then coffee. Sickly smiles, sweet decaff, and a reward from a whore. A fucking whore.

She turns back to me, raises one shoulder and tilts her head to a rest upon it for a second while she looks at me like I'm an idiot. I want to tell her that I'm not, but I am. I'm being fucked over by a disgrace of a man. I wonder, if I tell her calmly enough, maybe she'll accept it as a fact of life and pat me on the back and tell me how we all make mistakes. All great men make mistakes. Instead, every word she says is like a slap. Like a paramedic trying to keep someone conscious.

"Stephen, Light. Come on. They were having a 'coffee', apparently, but Stephen couldn't stop smiling." Og God. I look at the floor, partly so my hair hides my eyes from her. She reads and misreads me, but tries to speak comfortingly to me all the same to bring me round to her way of thinking. "Hey, I hate matchmaking as much as you do, but I like Stephen and I want him to stay. If Lawliet will make him stay, then those two need some professional help. Lawliet's your friend, I know, but he made a mistake. Help me out a little bit? Just this one thing."

"Kiyomi, Stephen's... I think Stephen's still in the CIA working under cover -"

"So?"

"Only he's really bad at it... Hold on, what do you mean, 'so'? That doesn't shock you?"

"No, not really. You suspect everyone and you've never liked him, but he's my friend and I'd know if he was still with the CIA."

"People don't tend to advertise that they work for a secret service, Kiyomi. He shouldn't get too close to us. He's already got far too close to us."

"Stephen's not spying on us, don't be silly. Are you still worried about that Wedy woman? Listen, he's really good with Kira, and if he has a reason to stay, then he can't be with the CIA, can he? Give him an aide job or something."

He's good with Kira? I know Kiyomi will hand Kira to anyone like he's a gift to the future, just for a chance to to talk to someone without being distracted and burdened with him. She is Kiyomi first, a wife second, and barely a mother, but I don't want Stephen anywhere near anything of mine. He's invading and permeating everything slowly, touched everything that belongs to me, and it's only a matter of time before he gets to me.

"I don't have aide jobs for your friends. Besides, he'd be terribly under-qualified."

"Security, then."

"No. I have to go. I'm late."

"Lunch?"

"I have a meeting."

Yes, I have a meeting with L at the hotel. I wonder which of us will snap first. Maybe he'll stand by a window and confess to me that he spoke to Stephen, they had coffee, and then he left. He loves me. I'll believe him and gratefully forget all these bloodstained thoughts in my mind. How can I be hurt by what he decides to give himself up to? It never used to bother me. 'Stephen couldn't stop smiling'. I want to...

Kiyomi sighs and makes quite the costume drama out of it. "I'll just have to go shopping instead."

"Great. Yeah," I say, opening the door.

"So red's ok then?"

"What?"

"Red. Tonight."

"Whatever you want. It's not important."

* * *

"Mmmm... you're so -"

"If you say that I'm 'so tight' or some shit, I'll smack you in the fucking face."

Looking down into his violent eyes, I'm torn between hitting him or laughing, so I roll off him and laugh to myself. As soon as I'm on my back and he's clear of me, he sits up and stands in his clammy tackiness. I don't see him walk into the bathroom, I only hear the light switch and the dull running of shower water. I don't know if he came. I don't if he came because I wasn't paying attention. It looks like he did, it seemed like he did, but I should have made sure.

My laugh settles into disturbed but steady breathing. I know then that I'm going to kill him. If not today, then one day. I've planned it out in my mind so many times that it should just be like revisiting a dream with a script. I'm going to kill him and that won't be difficult. I'll sit next to his cooling body and relish the silence that only death can bring, then I'll book this suite for a few more days and move his body to the locked bathroom, come here for an hour at a time, and slowly dismember him to scatter chunks of him throughout Tokyo from my briefcase. I could bring an overnight bag one time for larger pieces. In rubbish bins, wrapped in plastic. Dump joints in the lake and bury pieces in the woods around his house for animals to gnaw on. Put his head and hands under my floorboards. I'll forget about him until I ever need to move, and then he'll come with me. Him and what I've done. No one will ever know. No one would ever think I'm responsible - I don't have a killer's face and I have no motive. I don't know what happened to my Head of PR, but I know that he was asking for it. I warned him. Everyone warned him.

He comes back into the room eventually, though it doesn't seem like much time has passed, and the whiteness of his legs makes them look stupidly long. There's little shadow, just flanks, like a narrow, elongated rectangle from the side. My face presses into the pillow as he smiles at me in the mirror, then he holds his finger out towards his reflection like a gun. "Bang," he says, and holds his hand like that, pointing at himself, like he didn't mean to do it. My eyes widen, I can feel my face open for my shock, but then I smile slightly and he climbs back into bed and sits beside me, slightly damp still, ignoring his dripping hair while he checks his phone.

"I called by your office on Friday afternoon and Mihael said you'd gone out," I say, watching him closely. It has no visible effect on him.

"For lunch, yeah," he answers calmly. Well, he fell right into that one. Let's see how much deeper he can get himself buried.

"He said you had a doctor's appointment."

"Not a doctor. I had to see a osteopath."

"You've hurt your back?"

"I must have."

"You didn't mention it."

"I didn't have a chance to. It's not important."

"Where does it hurt?"

"Here," he says, pressing the base of his spine from what I can tell. Considering what he's just done, that osteopath must be a miracle worker, or else L's on some fucking amazing painkillers.

"What did he do?"

"Manipulated it a bit. Did osteopath things."

"Maybe you should see a doctor and have it checked out properly."

"I don't need to, it's much better now," he tells me. His finger drags along the screen and he checks the traffic report.

Then I'm in the bathroom, not sure of how I got here. My mind is still lost in a haze of methodical murder, with good sense trying to break through and tell me that it's not really possible, I'm overreacting, I should trust him, I should leave him, no, it's ok, kill him. What excuse would I give for why the bathroom must be kept closed? This would be so easy if there wasn't a fucking body. As I clean him from myself in the shower, I realise that I can't do it. I don't want to, but I should get a gun and kill him and then put the gun in my own mouth if I ever do. I was so ashamed that I had to put an end to both of us, that's what they'll think. My son will have this hanging over him, always. What I did, trying to understand it when he's too young to comprehend a reason why his father chose not to watch him grow up and help him with his homework. But all there is is that: he gets a job, he might get married, he might have my grandchildren and I'll die in retirement, then the same thing will happen to him. That's all there is. Maybe he'll understand one day. End things before they turn to shit.

Back in the bedroom, leaving my wet footprints in the bathroom mat, I think my thoughts are so powerful that they colour the air, but L still lies there, waiting. I never thought at that inquiry that it would lead to this. I don't want to die. I don't want him to die.

I start putting my clothes on in front of the mirror, and my hair is still damp and drips transparent holes onto my shirt, but I'm too desperate to get out of here. L watches me from the bed and his face is so white he looks dead already. He's holding my phone, offers it to me, and I take it without saying a word. On the screen is a photo of Kiyomi and Kira, which Kiyomi took last night. It should be obvious that she took it herself and not me, and she set it as my phone wallpaper as a joke. Well, I took it as a joke. I wipe my phone of everything every day, but I haven't yet. On the one day I should have.

"Kiyomi -"

"Are you leaving? You only just got here," he interrupts me angrily, pointing at the folded trousers over my arm. If only he wouldn't say a thing. If only he'd let me be respectable and leave, then he could leave, and we can both keep breathing a little longer. Anything would be better than this. I don't want to see him again. I want to leave, send him his dismissal, keep away from him, block his calls, never hear or see him again, laugh off his accusations in the press, maybe have another baby to prove it false. He'll get bored and leave; leave the country, leave my life. The end. I'll be a proud father at a wedding thirty years from now. I'll have children who share my blood sitting on my knee. They wouldn't be living if it wasn't for me making this decision and for taking the path in life I knew I should take, despite L. Despite L. To spite him. I'll die surrounded by people who love me and he'll die alone. He'll die first and maybe I'll hear of it and I'll hardly remember him enough to feel anything. The vision of the future makes me bored and feeble and cold inside. I need an alibi. I never thought L would get in the way of my life. No, my life is in the way of him.

"I got here forty minutes ago," I say, putting on my shirt quickly. My dressing routine has gone to shit.

"Where have you got to be?"

"Ahhh, it's a charity thing. People with mental health problems putting on an opera to raise money."

"God. Being Prime Minister must be terrible."

"It's a traditional opera too. You could come, if you want. Kiyomi wants you to come." I stop then. He watches me, waiting, questioning me in his mind, coming to conclusions, spotting a weakness, not understanding, determined to understand me to the death. "L?"

"Yes?"

My eyes feel full of water that's just reabsorbed when I go back to my cufflinks. Fucking L cufflinks. Cheap shit cufflinks and I wear them now without even thinking. I try to imagine a time when there's no need to call him because he won't be there to answer, and it hurts me so much that I can hardly breathe.

I look at him in the mirror. "Stephen's going to be there. Kiyomi wants you to..."

"What does she want me to do?"

"She wants you to come with us. You could talk to Stephen. It wouldn't be so bad."

"Ha. No, I don't think so."

"Maybe he'll feel up your leg."

"My leg's been felt, thanks. And I don't think Stephen will join you."

"Oh?"

"I'd be very surprised if he did, put it that way. No, I'm tired. Mentally ill people singing at me and then wanting my money is not the answer. Send my apologies to Kiyomi."

"Ok."

"So, will I see you tomorrow?"

"Lunch tomorrow?" I ask literally throwing on my trousers. I find a charity pin in the pocket which I should wear, but it's fucking ugly. "Yeah."

"No, I meant -"

"Fuck," I hiss suddenly. A drop of blood builds on my thumb and I shake my hand to distract myself from the echoes of the unexpected needle-like pain. "Stabbed myself in the fucking thumb with this pin. Fuck these charity pins. Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Nothing. How's Kiyomi?"

"She seems ok," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "Why?"

"Just asking. Would you rather that I didn't mention your wife? Shall we pretend that you're not married with a baby and that this isn't what it is? Am I kidding myself, Light?"

My eyes narrow in the glass and my hands drop to my sides. It's so dark in here that I'm lit only by a streak of daylight from the parting in the curtains, but aside from that, there's the softness and tiredness of a late night after a fine day. The sort of day with exhausting sun and clouds and a kissing breeze which leaves you with the feeling like nothing bad has every happened and never could happen – that they're just stories. And you're content with yourself and complete and you go to sleep feeling that way. That you're happy and want nothing more than you already have. I could be happy now, I think. But he won't let me. There's a break in the wires somewhere. Electricity is tripping and jumping instead of joining us because we're not earthed like we should be.

"This isn't about Kiyomi. Do you want me to stay here until you're bored and _you_ decide to leave? I have to leave. Not because I want to, but because I have to."

"Yeah, yeah, my heart bleeds for you." He waves his hand and lies back into his grave to descend into some reverie while crows caw outside above the faint buzz of traffic. "I just didn't picture myself at this age, meeting someone for sex in a hotel room."

"I didn't hear you complain before, but then, you were too busy having sex in a hotel room."

"Fuck you," he says, using the words like a battering ram against my head.

"Let's not do this. I don't have the time for it."

"I ___know _that you don't have the fucking time."

"Do you want me to cancel?"

"And disappoint all those people?" he asks, his face vibrant with rage. "Yes."

"You're really not giving me a reason to. Don't think you can bully me into doing what you want anymore. Those days are well and truly over."

"I didn't think that I ever had that power."

"Give me a break. News Bulletin! You've been a manipulative bastard to me since day one."

"Yet you still keep coming back for more, don't you, Light," he sneers at me, but it settles back into sadness quickly. Good. I'm glad that he's sad. "Do you need to talk about anything?"

"No."

"Ask me. I saw your car. You know that I didn't go to the osteopath."

"No, you were with Stephen. You could have spun that lie, L. You could have made it believable; only I saw you."

"Yes, and you see things. So, are you back to stalking me?" he asks. "I'd only like to know so I could try and make things more interesting for you."

"Ha. You'd _like_ to think that I'm stalking you."

"Really? Do you have someone more important to stalk? Like that billboard of yourself?"

"Piss off."

"Or something nicer, maybe. Perhaps a Venus flytrap."

"If I wanted to stalk someone more important and nicer than you I could hop down to Death Row and find someone there."

I have no choice but to wear these cufflinks. As soon as I get back to the office, I'm changing them. I'll put them in a fucking ashtray.

"Oooooh. Can we stop for a minute? I want to cry," he says, then rubs his forehead roughly like it's irritating him. "He's thinking of going back to the States."

"So he can rejoin the CIA? I'm so pleased for him."

"He never left the CIA," he tells me. Well, that must have been embarrassing for him. I look at him in the mirror, then I laugh, so he continues. "But it's not what you're thinking. He blames himself, even though it's not his fault, but I couldn't tell him that."

"Sounds like you had a nice chat. How does it feel to be used?"

"You want me to say that I feel like an idiot? I don't. I knew something wasn't right and I moved him in because of that. A liar knows another liar. I suppose that it is quite funny though."

"Yes, it is." I look back at myself in the mirror, framed like a portrait, and create a neat knot with my tie. "Did you fuck him?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes, I would, actually."

"Well that's tough because that's something I'm going to keep to myself. Or not grant you with an answer, whichever you'd rather think."

"You didn't then," I smile into the mirror. "Not for want of trying though, I bet."

"Yeah, Light, I'd love to. It's all I think about."

"But you try to make do with me until he's free? I understand."

"You help pass the time," he agrees bitterly.

"Oh, well I wouldn't want to hold you up. I wouldn't want to get in your way either. You should go wherever you want, L."

"You are such a bastard today," he says, amazed at my reaction, because he probably thinks that he deserve some kind of award for service to the state.

"And every day," I tell him, so he breathes out in exasperation. "Did you like your bill, L? And this is the thanks I get. You know, I... I really wonder what I'm doing all this for. I look at you and I don't know what I was thinking."

"Snap out of it. I'm trying my best for you."

"Sure you are. I'm tired of lies. Everywhere I look there's lies."

"Then we'll have no more of them," he says. Anyone else would believe the solicitude and ardency in his face and voice, but I don't. I can't. I rub my hair again with a towel.

"Fucking liars everywhere."

"Light."

"And you're the worst of them, L. You're the worst," I say loudly, but my face returns to the same barren state by the time I turn back to the mirror. I use my fingers like a comb to polish my hair into a smooth helmet with a side parting, like L's, I realise. I look like a completely different person. "Just fuck him, will you? Maybe then he'll leave me alone. Do your best."

"Hey, I'm sorry, but what's this all about? Nothing happened, ok? I didn't mention that I saw him because -"

"Stop," I shut him down quickly, turning to glare at him until he's silent. He's hurt and tender, but only because I won't listen to his shit, so I look back at my reflection and calm myself with a wipe of a finger across my forehead.

"I'm not lying to you, Light."

"Do you mind if I don't believe you?"

"No. I don't mind," he breathes out sadly after a moment, then pours himself a glass of water which he holds and contemplates in his lap. "We need to talk about -"

"About you and your fantasies?"

"Let me fucking finish! About the Wedy investigation."

"What about it?" I ask, turning to look at him again. He smiles, an astringent laceration from my attention.

"Oh, will you cancel now?"

"It depends. He said something to you?"

"I said that I didn't trust him. I always felt that he was hiding things from me. Distrust makes for a terrible situation and it ruined our relationship, that's what we decided. Absolutely nothing to do with you, was it? Surprise, surprise, he felt the same about me, so we confessed our deepest, darkest secrets," he says dreamily, leaning on the upturned palm of his hand. "Well, I made some up."

"What did he say?"

"Cancel."

"I can't."

"Then this will have to wait, like me."

"Am I a suspect or not?" I ask, but he does nothing but smile at me until my hands become stone-like and stiff and built for killing, so much so that I try to hide them. "Tell me."

"How did you kill her?"

"I... I didn't. They still think that I did?"

"You can tell me," he whispers lasciviously. "I'd love you all the more for it."

"I didn't kill her. L, are you are playing with me? Do they really think that I killed her?"

"I don't know," he replies lazily, letting his head droop to one side. "I hear bits and pieces, but to be honest, Stephen was rather preoccupied."

"L!" I shout at him, on top of him now, but he was prepared for it and holds my forearms away from him like I'm shackled. My mouth trembles with expelling air and anger as I search his eyes for something - for anything - but there's nothing there; just black holes in the centre of wide, round whites and the darkest grey ring of smouldering carbon. I hate him so much that he'll draw out each torture for me. That he gets some prurient satisfaction from it.

"You're not a suspect," he says. I hold my breath until the relief comes, but it's transitory. He could be lying to me again. My head falls onto his chest anyway and I breathe in warm air from here, willing myself to accept it as truth. He kisses the top of my head and I think that no one could be that cruel to give lies and take truth from someone like this. No one could treat someone they're supposed to love like a yo-yo. Then he speaks into my hair. I try to pull myself away from what he says, but he holds me there, forcing me to listen, and it's like he knows every thought in my head.

"You know, if you killed me then you'd have to get rid of my body. There'd be evidence from you all over me like a road map to your door. You'd have to cut me up in the bath all by yourself. It's the only way you'd even have a chance of -"

"Stop it, you crazy fuck," I shout, managing to push myself away from him, and his eyes widen with pleasure and shock.

"I thought you liked that kind of thing," he says, biting his lip as he presses his face against the pillow, which he holds almost like a lover. "I can smell you here." You bastard, you bastard.

I turn back to the mirror and rush at stuffing my shirt into my trousers and putting on my belt. I don't want anything but to get out of here, even if I look a mess when I do. I just need to get out of this room. But suddenly he's standing behind me and I see only a portion of his face in our reflection.

"You've killed in your mind," he tells me. "You're a murderer in all ways but one. You might as well do it for real."

"No."

"You're so close, Light. You should let yourself go."

"Shut up."

"Maybe I am sleeping with him. In Naomi's house, but she hasn't told you because it's still none of your business as far as everyone else is concerned. Why would you care what I was doing? We're just friends, aren't we. But, between us, you don't get anything for nothing, so maybe I slept with him for _you_, or maybe I did because I wanted to. I don't know anymore. Maybe I didn't at all. What do you think?"

"I think that you did. Because you wanted to."

"Then you'd be wrong," he says, then sits on the edge of the bed, nonchalantly drinking water while he watches me. "He asked me to move to New York with him."

"So, are you going?"

"You know that I'm not going."

"You're very good at getting on planes with no notice, L."

"And you're very good at getting your wife knocked up, but I..." He stops himself, which is just as well. I relax back to easy dressing and put on my shoes.

"Anything else?" I ask.

"No, just that the investigation is closed. Deep vein thrombosis aggravated heart attack was found to be the cause of death."

"So all that for nothing."

"You have a real talent in how ungrateful you are, or how you don't ever feel relief when you should. They still think that it was someone in the government but they can't prove it, and word from above has said that any further investigation isn't worth potentially damaging relations with you. G8 and everything."

"Couldn't they have worked that out sooner?"

"They believe that a senator was assassinated by your government, Light."

"Well, I didn't. No one in my government did. But they think that and they'll just let it go anyway?"

"For the greater good, yes."

"For financial reasons. They think I've committed murder but they'll let it go because it might affect trade? You know, Stephen could have just asked me instead of spying on me for months via you."

"Actually, it was Mikami they suspected, but on your orders. Apparently I was just a coincidence. When the Bureau found out, they asked Stephen to work on the case from my house, to bring him closer to the suspects. And I knew it. I knew it. I gave you to him because you deserve every punishment that can be handed out."

"Thanks."

"And so he _is_ more interesting than you thought. Do you see why I liked him now? And then there's America. America's on the table for me. He thinks a new start would be good for both of us. He's probably right."

"Maybe you should go."

"Maybe I should."

"For the opportunity."

"Hmmm. But I've invested so much time into you, and now you're falling. That wouldn't be the actions of a loving creator, would it? To abandon you. But I don't know, New York might be a nice change. Maybe we should both move on like we were before you -"

"Shut up, L. I'm telling you!"

"I'm thinking about it, and in the meantime he's fucking my brains out until I don't need to think any more. Unique way of convincing someone, isn't it?" he says, then sprints to the door to stop me leaving. I'd leave without my briefcase and jacket now; I don't give a shit, I need to leave. "No, no, no, I booked you for two hours and I will get my two hours. Cancel."

"No."

"I'll call Stephen then. Shame to let this room go to waste. I could go again. Same thing, different face, eh?" His expression changes immediately to one I've seen countless times. His head hits the back of the door softly as he purrs and hums with closed eyes. "Mmmm... Stephen."

"You fucking -"

"And then I'll call Kiyomi. I might call her now, actually. Let her know what her husband's been up to for... oh, five years nearly."

And he's not joking. He walks to the bed, picks up his phone, scans, and dials.

"Give me that!" I demand, reaching towards the phone, but he steps out of my way easily with it pressed to his ear.

"It's ringing. Oooh, the tension."

"L, put the phone down."

"Cancel."

"No."

"Oh well," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

"You can't do this every time you don't get what you want!"

"Can't I?" he asks. "Oh, hello. I'm Mr Lawliet, I'd like to speak to Mrs Yagami, if she's available. Yeah, thanks, I'll hold," he says to whoever's on the line. My mouth has fallen open. "I'm on hold," he tells me cheerfully, putting his hand over the phone. "You know what wicked whispers I heard the other day? There was me trying to get information out of Stephen for you, _for you_! And I fucking hate it, Light, because of all people, he shouldn't be treated like that, but I was doing it anyway. And Kiyomi came around to talk to Naomi about how you're getting on so much better since Kira was born. How she thought that you were having an affair but you're not anymore."

"I never said that I was or I wasn't!"

"But you've done something to make her think that you aren't when you should be doing the exact fucking opposite! I saw you today -" he spits at me, his face curling into a the very picture of anger and betrayal. But it's not true! I haven't done anything to encourage Kiyomi.

"I haven't -"

Again, with alarming speed, his entire demeanour changes to that of a pleasant man I've never met and speaks into the phone. "Yes, sorry, I'm still here. No, I don't mind waiting."

While he's distracted, I lunge for the phone and grab it, end the call, and throw it to the other side of the room. Instead of retrieving the phone, L rushes at me, taking me by the waist and running me backwards into a wall. I push him away and punch him as hard as I can, but it barely seems to register on him, so I punch him again, waiting and hoping for some reaction, but he simply rubs his jawbone and laughs at me.

"Light, you're so predictable. You need some new moves. Stephen's got some, you should ask him."

My madness is overwhelming then. I just want some admission, a sorry, the truth, but I get nothing but scorn, lies and threats. I push him until he hits the edge of the bed and falls onto it and twists with me on top of him like a rabid thing. I've split his lip, and that shocks me to a certain stillness which he follows up. I think that we could probably fuck again now and it'd all be forgotten, maybe. Written off as a bit of necessary intensity. I'll tell him that I love him and then I'll be late, but tonight, I'll still be walking down a carpet which matches Kiyomi's dress.

"I think this is hurting you more than it is me," L tells me. His chest moves up and down with a stressed regularity and tempo. I want it to stop.

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Go to _fucking_ America!"

"I might just do that. Be careful what you wish for. You wouldn't have a clue what to do if I left. You'd be a stranger to yourself again."

"I was fine!"

"Yeah, ok, you were fine, whatever you say. Just some asexual twat who thought of nothing but clothes and money and making a name for himself, because you're selfish, Light. You try to excuse it with all these great ideals, but it's all for yourself. You want people to see what you are, but you know what? If they saw the real picture, they wouldn't like what they saw. Sex was just a currency for you depending on the exchange rate and greater men than you have died without anyone remembering their names. You would have been just like them if it wasn't for me."

"Shut up, L! You don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you going to do something or what?" Yes, gouge your eyes out for how they're looking at me. I see something dark manifest through the wall out of the corner of my eye, but I'm used to it now. I see things. Maybe everyone does but they don't talk about it, they just accept it like I should. And when I see that darkness, it's always a sign to tell me that I'm making the right decision. I see that now. "No?" L asks me. "You're such a disappointment sometimes. All the fucking time."

A second passes, and now my hands are around his throat. I scramble on top of him and sit on his thighs, pinching my knees tight either side of his hips to hold him still. My hands squeeze around his throat until I can feel through the thin skin down to the fragile cartilage, and I see how simple this is, how it's always been this simple. All these opportunities I've had, and I've held myself back for sentiments which might not even be there and for laws that don't apply to me. This man is the definition of emptiness. I convinced myself that I love him, but at most I just admired him, and like every hero, he was bound to fail in my eyes. My torque-like hands tighten and his neck strains and swells, and I close my eyes. He grapples with me desperately, but in his panic he can't get a grip or do anything apart from hit and slap and hold on. His legs try to kick but can't, a balled up fist hits my head, glances off, and I hardly feel it. I hear him rasp out my name twice, creaking with agony and the nearness of death - it leaks from him unwillingly as I force it from him - and I knew that he'd die perfectly. My hands are the strongest of hands and I wish someone had chopped them off when I was born. And in this moment, there is nothing beautiful in the world.

I push him down into the mattress but he still struggles, so I pull the corner of the pillow from under his head and he gasps at the sudden rush of air until it's cut off from him again. I put all my weight on the pillow and his face beneath all that whiteness. He's not even a person anymore. I have made a decision and I control fate.

I was only distracted for a second. I just took my eyes off the road for a second.

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**A/N **Grim, innit? Desde-bloody-mona. I'm really sorry. I'll try to update again soon so you're not left hanging. Reviews are always the bee's knees, even (especially) if they're a capslock keyboard smash of anger or something. Thank you if you've left a review and I haven't or can't reply. They're my crack, whatever they contain, and even though I'm crap at writing them myself, please send me one if you can, because I feel like if I haven't lost you already then I'm going to lose you now. P.S. Sorry that this chapter is so very long. "Light... my son," is for tumblr people, but especially PickettFence here on ffn, and you should really read her fics because she's amazing and her writing is beautiful. I'm so bad at reviewing I'M SO SORRY LOOK AT THAT!


	26. The Pearl Fishers

**A/N **It might not seem that way from the start (don't listen to Light), but prepare for fluff. As fluffy as this can get anyway, and apparently that's quite fluffy. I must have heatstroke. I thought that you might deserve this because it's all serious plot now, like really serious events and stuff, and there's only a few chapters left and I've nearly finished them; it's just tinkering about and filler now. Thank you for the reviews and for reading, but if you leave a review then I'm massively grateful. Not begging (yes, I'm begging), but after a story's finished, I think that people are less likely to leave reviews? I don't know. I love reviews though, and I've met some really fantastic people through this story so far AND RECS FOR BOOKS YAY! Thank you so much anyway, whether you leave a review or not, just thank you for reading. *gushing cheese alert* P.S. I'll post a disclaimer on my tumblr because some of the political things in this chapter are based on or just stolen from Callaghan's or Thatcher's time in office. I think you might know now that I'm obsessed with UK politics from 1960-now even though I've tried to dampen it down a lot for the sake of L and Light, but this chapter has a lot of references which I've crammed in.

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**Chapter Twenty Five**

**The Pearl Fishers**

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Those who have been once intoxicated with power, and have derived any kind of emolument from it, even though but for one year, never can willingly abandon it. They may be distressed in the midst of all their power; but they will never look to anything but power for their relief.

~ Edmund Burke

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"It's a shame. He would have loved this."

"All these sycophants campaigning for his job. People like me, who have better things to do but _have_ to be here. And people like you, who came to his funeral when you'd never even met him, but you _have_ to help represent your department because Health can't be bothered to stop knobbing his secretary for one fucking minute. Yes, he would have loved this."

"Sorry. I only meant -"

"How's Kiyomi, Yagami?" Mikami asks me. Mikami is one of the pallbearers because someone pulled out at the last minute, protesting a bad back, and Mikami's dressed like a pallbearer and vaguely knew Finance on a friendly level. We stand under the marquee, but far over the the side by a slit in the tent so that we can watch the drizzling rain over the perfectly mown lawn. My security took over this entire funeral, so the occasion is now considered safe. Everyone has been groped at least once, apart from me.

"Doing pelvic floor exercises," I answer moodily.

"What's that when it's at home?"

"I don't want to know, so I haven't asked. Is my jacket creased at the back?"

"No, it looks great. What's that, linen?"

"Silk and linen. Sixty/forty."

"Nice. Pelvic floor... What could that be? Must be code for something. Pelvis on the floor? Maybe it's putting a pillow underneath their arse when they're lying down, y'know. I've heard of that. Works a charm, seriously. Have you tried it?"

"It's the oldest trick in the book, Mikami."

"Is it? Maybe it's that then. Maybe it's been rebranded. I'll text Naomi, she'll know. It must be something to do with sex. I heard that some women go mad, proper nympho after they have a baby because of the abstaining and hormones and stuff. Did you abstain? Are you missing out right now?"

I find this conversation hard to stomach. I feel myself look at him like I've just discovered a confusing new species of deep sea creature which defies the laws of nature.

"She's just had a caesarian."

"No sex then?"

"You guys are so funny," Touta giggles to himself. "Hey, is that the caterer coming back? I was worried. I thought they'd gone."

"Nothing like a funeral to make you appreciate what you've got, eh? " Mikami smirks. "I always feel kind of renewed after a funeral. I never want to go to them because they're such a waste of time, but I'm always glad that I did afterwards."

"Free lunch."

"Not exactly for that reason, no."

"The only people who like funerals are old people," Touta says. "Have you noticed?"

"Ha, yeah. I think it becomes a competition at the end. Who'll live the longest? You decide. That sort of thing. Did you see that old woman in the back row? The one with the pugs, and she cried all the way through? I asked, and she's some crazy from the village. Didn't even know him; just goes to every funeral to cry."

"I don't get people sometimes."

"You'll be like her one day, Touta. Crying in the back row with your pugs."

"Lay off, Teru. I don't know what there is to like about funerals. They depress me. What do you think, Light?"

"Death is an aphrodisiac," I say, looking at the rolling expanse of grass which is so intensely green after the terrible weather lately that it almost hurts my eyes. It's only after I've spoken and it's met by silence that I realise that perhaps it wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come again?"

"It makes you want to have sex. No? Ok. What's with the Pavarotti?" I ask. A seamless change in topic. We're being treated to a dose of opera over the sound system which is blaring all over the grounds. This is a very exclusive funeral location and I can't understand why our ears are being assaulted.

"Sato liked opera, apparently," Mikami tells me. "His cousin was going to sing, but she shattered a couple of glasses so they decided against it. I know what you mean about the sex thing though. Sex and death. It makes you evaluate your life and, I don't know, funerals make me want to book a holiday or do something stupid, like propose, but they do make you think. I don't know where I'd be without you lot. If I hadn't gone into politics, I'd probably still be some boring, second-rate lawyer harping on about justice. Politics saved my life, it really did. You ok? You look tired."

"I'm bored." I do not look tired. I slept better than than Sato in his coffin did, probably.

"Thinking about Nakamura, I bet."

Nakamura was in the Cabinet Office and died yesterday afternoon. She died in the House, but since no one is allowed to die in the House, she died in hospital, officially. She was completely useless, being in favour of devolution, which is crackpot, but she was one of the recognisable female faces of the cabinet because she'd been here so fucking long, so she was good to keep around. Since I became Prime Minsiter, I've increased the representation of women in my government. One of the major criticisms of The Lady was that she did nothing for her gender. I have taken the tax off sanitary towels and tampons, because Kiyomi was moaning about it. Not that _she_ can't afford the pay the tax, but I realise that it's a small concession for women on lower incomes. It says that I'm not penalising women for being women, and it's amazing what loyalty that inspired. The Lady inadvertently did a lot for women in getting the position that she did, because it gave them hope of equality, but she preferred the company of men, had no time for feminism, constantly referred to women as homemakers, and did nothing to further other women's careers in the House.

Oh, I know what you're thinking. What about L? Dead, I'm afraid. I left him on the bed in the hotel, sent him a message five minutes after to act as a sort of alibi, which chastised him for interrupting an official meeting in rooms provided by the state, for a shag with some man he pulled in off the street. L put me in a very difficult position and we would have to talk about it at a later date. Security picked me up and I reiterated what had happened and: 'L is very unprofessional and will get himself killed one of these days.' I haven't been contacted by the NPA yet, and I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised - the chief is a friend of mine.

But the problem now is Nakamura dying. Yet another blow to my cabinet, because now her seat is empty and her death exacerbates the danger of her extracurricular activities being leaked to the press. I only heard about it a few days ago, and then she upped and died. Innocent until proven guilty, but still dead either way.

"Yagami?" Mikami prods me.

"Oh! Yes. Rotten luck."

"I heard about that! You were on the radio, Teru!" Touta says cheerfully. I heard him too on a news report. At first I thought that it was a bit early for him to be launched back into the spotlight, but on second thoughts, it's probably worked out for the best.

"Was I? Oh yeah I was interviewed."

"I keep thinking about when I was asked about that article she wrote. 'Prime Minister, what do you think of your honourable colleague's paper promoting radical new policy: _This Happy Land Free of Strife_?' This Happy Land Full of Shite, more like. A complete waste of paper."

"Ha! God, yeah, that was shit. You handled it like a pro. What did you say again?" he asks. I am a pro. What the fuck does he mean by that?

"That the policies she was advocating would lead to a sustained state of systematic decline, and at best, she was suggesting that the government's role was to oversee an orderly management of that decline. She missed out on the keyword of government, and basically, she wanted us to tend crops and sheep and live in the fucking Shire like those hobbity people. Of course, I couldn't say it in those terms; it wouldn't look good to point out the deficiencies of my own MPs. I said something about how our anti-volacity mechanisms will maintain stability after the property boom, so there's no need for defeatism. We have a wealth of usable political history to refer to in creating policies: what works, what doesn't, but still people think that they've thought of something new which will revolutionise the world. They should leave that to people who are more able, because nine times out of ten, it's a load of shit."

"Thought the same myself."

The woman from the Attorney General's Office who's fancied me for years is wandering around with no clear destination in mind and says: "Prime Minister," to me softly as she passes by, like she's trying to imitate Marilyn Monroe after a shitload of crystal meth. She always looks hurt when she sees me now, and I'm sure that she thought that I harboured some secret longing for her, and that in my despair about the House rules against romantic inter-work relationships, married Kiyomi instead. As it is, I can't even remember her name. I bow my head and thank God that she didn't stop.

"So she just died?" Touta asks once she's out of earshot. Mikami nods slowly. Some would say wisely, but I'm not one of those people.

"Dead before she hit the ground, the paramedic said."

"She was one of the only women The Lady allowed into the big leagues, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "The only one she promoted. And her seat was so safe that I never had to worry about it. It's a real pain."

"I wish I'd seen it."

"Touta, that's a very morbid and disrespectful thing to say. Rephrase."

"Um... I always miss these things?"

"Better, but you shouldn't express so much joy that someone's died. It's just not very polite. Try to keep it to yourself."

"What are you wearing for the funeral, Yagami?" Mikami asks me. He's giving me the once over again and takes a step away from me. I'm one of those people who it doesn't pay to stand too close to, because I highlight inadequacies in the most flagrant ways just by being in a line up

"I haven't thought about it much yet. She was from Himeji, so I thought I'd wear Kenzo."

"Why?"

"He's from Himeji. He's related to Kiyomi, actually. He's a Takada."

"Really?"

"Hmmm. Distantly related. He sold the business, but I have a suit from his final collection somewhere. It's not 'out there' or anything, I just haven't had an opportunity to wear it."

"Out there is good. News just in: the husband's setting a bright dresscode."

"Shit. Really?"

"Only 'happy colours because she loved them so much'. What a fucking knob."

"I did mistake her for a parrot in a yurt once. No, that's ok. I have a turquoise mohair blend Kenzo two piece."

"Turquoise? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It was marketed as turquoise but the pantone colour is something more like... I don't know, a vivid navy." Accent stitching in grey throughout, notched lapel collar with buttonhole, two-button closure at front, slightly padded shoulders, welt pocket and flap pockets at front, vent at back seam, four-button sleeve cuffs, welt pockets at interior, fully lined, tonal stitching, slim-fit trousers, four-pocket styling, tapered at unhemmed ankle cuffs (a pig of a thing to get your feet through, actually), partially lined, zip fly, 73% wool, 27% mohair. The lining is viscose and acetate though. You win some, you lose some. Dry clean. "Kiyomi said that I should wear blue, isn't that funny? Because blue -"

"Isn't a funeral colour."

"No, not at all. I have it in green too but I think that's too much. I don't want to go mad. They were both made in France and I don't think that's appropriate, considering."

"Why? Will you look like the Moulin Rouge?"

"Mikami, don't try to be funny, it doesn't suit you. I just think that for a funeral I should wear Japanese, unless I can think of a reason to make it sound like there's some meaning in me wearing it."

"She used to holiday in France."

"Oh! Perfect," I say, but my happiness is short-lived because Mihael's rolling up. "Fuck. Hell's angel is here."

"And he's bringing... what's his name. From Culture."

"Oshiro. He only wants Finance," I laugh, and Touta and Mikami share in it. "You should read the application he sent me. With a fucking cover letter!"

"Oh my God."

"I know. Two pages. I was thinking: 'How 1995!' because you should see the typeface and the layout – fuck! Home office job, y'know? Windows Stone Age or something and a Packard Bell printer. It was really funny until I realised that he expected me to read it," I say increasingly under my breath as Mihael and Oshiro draw closer. "Oh, hi, Mihael! How are you doing? And why are you here?"

"PR," he answers, the monosyllabic pretty boy twat. Looks like he's lost his visual kei bandmates and now he's just lost.

"Of course," I smile, then accept Oshiro's desperate yet still repulsively arrogant bow. "Oshiro, thanks for coming."

"Prime Minister. I thought you'd be too busy with Mrs Yagami and your new baby to be here. What have you called him again? Shiny?"

"Kira, with the character for light. It was my wife's choice."

"Women, eh?" he nudges me. "I can't stand babies. Get a nanny, send him to boarding school as soon as you can and good luck, that's all the advice I can give you. I'd say that it gets easier but it doesn't."

You know what I can't fucking stand? People who think they're amazing and that people actually want their opinions and advice, but they can't even manage to form a good skincare regime. Almond oil is an excellent cleanser. It's a great all-rounder, actually, so there's no excuse. I noticed a difference after two weeks, but then, I use organic. People make mistakes with exfoliants and alkaline products which completely unbalance the natural Ph of the skin and act as a breeding ground for bacteria. There's cleansing dead cells away, and there's ripping your face off with apricot hulls. Who thinks that that's a good idea? Oshiro obviously does. Broken capillaries, the works. I'm not holy in my skincare routine, because, frankly, life's too short and I was naturally endowed with skin which doesn't need much upkeep beyond the most basic. I only do what I do now for the anti-ageing benefits. One day, I will thank myself. The list is cleanse twice a day, do not smoke, get a source of vitamin D from natural sunlight in moderation, SPF, sugar is evil, don't eat shit, take supplements, avoid dairy, avoid alcohol, and use quality skincare which doesn't foam (you get what you pay for) – then you'll be fine. I do most of those things, but I won't let it rule my life. This man has no idea and doesn't do one thing right, I can tell that just from looking at him. His wife doesn't care enough about him, obviously, but judging by her, she smothers herself in 'warm beige' masonry paint every morning, so what can you expect? Kiyomi has made snide comments about her brutal eyeliner before, but I like to try to think the best of people until they prove themselves to be idiots.

"Ha, yeah," I say. "He's only a week old, but I'll keep your advice in mind. Nice suit. Those budget brands are really pulling out the stops lately, aren't they?" Hole in one!

"I'll leave the fashion parade to you young ones. This one's a classic. Seen me right through from my first House funeral in '87." He pulls open the jacket to demonstrate that it was a piece of shit in 1987 and still is today.

"It's in fine condition. You might like to get that lining looked at though. I could pass on my tailor's number on to you, if you want? I'm sure that he could do... something with it."

"That'd be great," he says, a muscle in his jaw twangs like a shamisen, and I've never felt as perfect as I do now. I want to kettle moments like this and dip into them like books. "Thank you, Prime Minister."

"Not a problem. It's just nice to see that Sato's funeral is so well attended."

"Oh yeah, I mean, he was a crap minister, but a good laugh. He said to me once that they only people who say 'no comment' are murderers and politicians. Isn't that hilarious? Completely deadpan, y'know? One of those quirky buggers. Hahahahaha!"

"Hahahahahahahhahaha!" He's an absolute dickhead shitting royal cunt.

"Anyway, I just wanted to say hello before I leave. Don't suppose that you've had time to read my application for old Sato's post, have you?"

"I'm afraid not, but you will be considered."

"Brilliant. I'm a people person, you wouldn't regret it. I work best on my own and as part of a team. I'm just really the best man for the job, ask anyone, but I think my record speaks for itself. You have my number. Got to go now. I'd stay, but I have lunch booked at The Blue Note. Nice to see you though, Prime Minister."

"And you. Thanks, Oshiro."

"What a dick," Mikami whispers to me, leaning in towards my ear just as Oshiro waddles away and the stick-on smile leaves my face.

"Doesn't have a cat in hell's chance. I'd rather promote a cat than him."

"I'm worried about this dress code for Nakamura's funeral now," Touta says, stroking the back of his neck. "I never know what to wear to these things anyway and I only own black suits."

"No one will take any notice of you, Touta. You wear your black suit."

"I'm wearing black," Mihael informs us all. What a surprise.

"You're invited?" Touta exclaims. "But you're just a PA!"

"Fuck you, Matsuda. I'm representing PR."

"I better send a memo to make sure that no one clashes," I decide. At least I should warn people not to treat this bizarre dress code as an excuse for fancy dress and play right into the press' hands. "But she clashed with herself all the time. Maybe everyone should clash as a loving tribute?"

"Polka dots," Mikami says.

"Who was she again?" Touta asks.

"Cabinet Office," I reply.

"She should never have worn red," Mikami continues, though we're taking no notice of him.

"She was one of those eccentric types," I tell Touta.

"Just made her look like a beef tomato," Mikami concludes. "Oh hell, look who it is."

It's L. Yes, I might have exaggerated. Although, I haven't heard from him since yesterday, so I almost convinced myself that he _was_ dead - he might as well have been. Anyone else would have done the decent thing and died, but L absolutely refused. And I _might_ have changed my mind about that kind of emotional outburst, because although effective, it's not the best way to resolve conflict. I left immediately, leaving him pushing the pillow off his face, gasping for air on the bed like a dying fish and tentatively touching his neck. That was the last I saw of him - taking steps back like a murderer, staring at what I'd nearly done. He looks a mess nearly twenty-four hours later. Back to the loosely, hardly-worth-mentioning tailored suits of yore just to piss me off, and he slouches over to us, smiling at the floor like the cunt that he is. I try to remind myself of why I liked him enough to waste four years on him, liked him enough to want to kill him and that I actually felt betrayed and hurt by him, but it's difficult, to be honest. When he looks like he's been pulled out of bed by a crane and dressed by a two year old, it really_ is_ hard to remember. Temporary loss of sanity, I think. Absolute desperation for a confidant on my wavelength, perhaps some ill-placed gratitude. And he's a really good fuck - that might count for something. I am but human.

"Yo," Mihael says to L as he joins our party, holding his hand up to be smacked, I presume. Mihael still thinks that we're in the early '90s, clearly. If someone did that to me, I'd probably punch them in the face, but sadly we can't act as we would wish to. I've never understood this father/son bromance thing they have, but I'm 99.9% sure that if I wasn't around, L would be all over Mihael like a rash.

"Good afternoon, Mihael," L replies, patting him on the shoulder like he's dealing with a mentally-ill patient who must be softly appeased. "Gentlemen," he nods to everyone. "Prime Minister, could I possibly cadge a fag?"

After a second of silence, Touta laughs sharply, cutting himself off by slapping his hand over his mouth. Everyone sighs.

"A cigarette, I should say," L continues. "For the benefit of some of our more immature colleagues."

"You're not allowed to smoke inside," Touta tells him almost smugly. I am silently horrified by how raspy L's voice sounds. I did that. I must have. I pull out my cigarette case in a daze after noticing my thumbprint on his throat, and now I can't excuse anything.

"Technically, I'm outside," he says, all good humour and fingers, touching my hand more than the lighter which I'm offering him out of politeness. I end up throwing it at his chest and roll my eyes back inside the marquee. "Lovely having a bit of 'Nessun Dorma', isn't it? Shame that the CD keeps skipping. 'Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me; il nome mio nessun saprà! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!' for about five minutes," he laughs, shaking his head with each 'no' and wrapping one arm around his chest to support his cigarette hand. This inane babble is the equivalent of starstruck blushing, tripping over a bag and walking into a door, in L's universe. Is he actually awkward? Is he nervous because of me? "Hasn't anyone noticed?" he continues. "Oh no, we're stuck on 'Die! Die! Die! Die!' now. No such luck with that Monty Python song they played before."

"God, what happened to your neck, mate?" Mikami asks, pointing at the thumbprint clearly seen above L's collar. The whiteness of his shirt acts like a frame and a white wall to emphasise the bruising, so he looks like one of those beaten and mugged old people you see in the papers. Of course he'd show it off. I'm only surprised that he didn't wear a mandarin collar so he could display the whole thing. He immediately smiles and attempts to pull up his collar, but he's loving this - trying to make me feel bad and humiliating me privately by showing off his war wounds. Part of me is proud of it, because he has to live with that and give various lies to everyone who asks him about it, and everyone should know what a bastard he is.

"Oh, nothing," he says. "You should have seen the other guy, as they say. I've never seen someone leave a room so fast."

"Fucking hell," Mihael gasps, pulling down L's collar to reveal the ring of deep red and purplish bruising around his throat. Suddenly, I regret nothing again as I glance over his throat passively; only that I didn't finish the job. L swats Mihael's hand away and pulls up the collar again.

"It looks impressive, doesn't it?" he says, turning to Touta and his horrified, open-mouthed face, "I play rough," he offers in explanation, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Have you ever seen something and knew that it was bad for you and that it would probably kill you, but you had to tap it anyway because that's half the reason you like it in the first place? That's me. I'm sorry, Prime Minister. I'm every nasty homosexual stereotype going. People are burning effigies of me all along the Bible belt. Do you really want someone like me working for your government?"

No, I don't. I shouldn't. I'm trying to eradicate corruption in the House and I idolise the most corrupt person in the building. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm kneecapping myself.

"You should get a shirt with a taller collar," I say. "I've got one in my office that you can borrow."

"How nice of you to offer, but I was getting fond of the myriad of colours. I saw a scarf just like it once."

"Missoni?"

"Possibly," L replies before dragging on his cigarette as some woman wails over the sound system. "Oh, Maria Callas. Christ, pass me the razor blades. So, abuse is ok as long as it's hidden from sight? Typical politician."

"Who was it this time?" Mikami asks, losing interest quickly.

"Some temperamental nut," he laughs. I've now completely detached myself from any involvement in L's weird and no doubt well-deserved assault. "I thought about reporting him, but I'd quite like to see him again."

"Why?"

L puffs on his cigarette like it's a remedy for the affliction, appears to ponder the question and decides on the most insubstantial of answers. "Nothing means more to me," he explains. Like that's supposed to make me forgive everything and fall into the nearest bed.

"I don't understand," Touta confesses. He must be permanently confused, like someone in the last, most severe and foggy stages of senility. "After he did that to you?"

"You'll get yourself killed one of these days," I say to L lazily. I could hardly care if he did. It's a strange position to be in, knowing that if someone called me to say that he'd been killed in a sexually motivated crime, I wouldn't be surprised at all. Not a bit.

"So you said in your text message yesterday. Oh, but I do hope so," he tells me, looking for all the world like the bruises are only proof of a good time being had. "I won't be happy unless I die in suspicious circumstances and an inquiry into my death is held and splashed all over the papers. I'm just sad that my father won't be around to see it."

"Yes, I'm sure that he would have loved it. Well, you're on the right track, if that's what you're after."

"You should go to the police, Lawliet," Mikami says. Under normal circumstances, I'd agree. But this _is_ L and he deserved it. L takes another laugh-ridden intake on his cigarette, looks at the floor briefly, and my hands ball into fists, so I stuff them into my trouser pockets. I expect that that this action makes it look like I don't condone his behaviour but I'm concerned about him, when in truth, I'm itching to knock him out.

"Yes," he smiles, looking at me. His eyes are piercing, pornographic and dying for round two as the smoke dances around him, but I am unaffected. "But, as I said, I'd quite like to see him again. He's a bit like really good crack. Sometimes you wonder why you like it, but you can't face a day without it. He's a good-looking motherfucker and not without his virtues. I don't know, I can't explain it," he says, giving up with a shake of the head. "So, I hear that that mad woman in the Cabinet Office has died. What was it this time? Stroke?"

"Yeah," Touta nods excitedly. "In the House, just outside the Chamber. Mikami saw it."

"Really? Was it gruesome?"

"Nah," Mikami says with a laugh. "Actually, a bit. She cracked her head on the base of that statue of The Lady as she went down."

"How fitting."

"Shit," Touta gasps. No, that aspect of her death is not common knowledge, nor will it ever be.

"Yeah. Couldn't stand her," Mikami confesses, and L turns to him like the louche bastard he is.

"Oh, you heard the rumours?"

"What rumours?" Touta asks.

"Ah. Sorry," L smiles. "That's confidential."

"Kiddy fiddler, I heard," Mikami says. God, everyone knows. "Weird for a woman, isn't it? What would she get out of it?"

"Not so confidential then. Yes, she had some ring going. Her husband runs a children's home outside Himeji and she took photos and spread them around, enabled visitors for a fee, you know how these things work. Obviously, this is in confidence, though I couldn't help it if you felt the need to tell a journalist anonymously, but bear in mind that the ring is made up of a lot of MPs from your party. _And_, with a local election there looming, we want to retain that seat and the PM's majority, don't we? That's my latest PR nightmare. We're having a whale of a time, aren't we, Mihael?"

"Yeah, it's great," Mihael says, looking like he's just been told that he has three weeks to live. Touta is probably the only civil servant who's fairly well informed on matters of state that don't concern him, but even after years of working for the government, he's always shocked at new revelations.

"God, you think you know someone."

"You never met her Touta," I remind him. She looked like the clown from that Stephen King novel. If they find children buried under that place, I wouldn't be surprised about that either. Unfortunately, this whole thing could lead to dissolution. I've thought of leaving it as a parting gift when I resign, citing my lack of faith in the government as a whole as a reason for me leaving. This reminds me that despite writing L off as dead to me, I'm still planning to resign and that hasn't wavered. When something like this is revealed, I despair of the whole institution. The best thing that could happen now is that someone destroys the House, the Kantei and start again from scratch. But it won't be me. All of my career, I've longed for a coup - a vote of no confidence - so I could show my true colours, but history tells us that nothing really changes.

"Maybe that's why she wore all those bright colours. To attract them. Like an ice cream van," Touta muses to himself. I notice L staring at me, letting his cigarette waste down to a ashy Tower of Pisa between his fingers. I feel like I've been watched and seen, that my inner thoughts and my despondency is open for everyone to see, but only L really sees, if he sees anything at all apart from a look on my face which he finds attractive or interesting, whatever. I'm a cattle market because of my damn face and his damn eyes.

"And what are your thoughts, Prime Minister?" he asks me. I wish he wouldn't speak to me. I wish he wouldn't look at me. I wish he'd fuck off.

"No loss."

"That's my boy," he smiles back at me, his voice suddenly soft with affection. You wouldn't think that I'd tried very hard to kill him yesterday. "The curse is back and rotten people are dropping like nine pins. Useful for you though, isn't it? Didn't you say that you wanted her out?"

"Yes, I did, but at the right time and without all this ring stuff being made public knowledge. Mikami, come to my office at 9 on Monday."

"Sure."

And I leave the group with no fanfare and am nearly home and free until L calls after me so that I have no choice but to keep walking and therefore draw attention to myself, or to answer him.

"What?" I ask. He says nothing. Now they're _all_ looking at me. "What do you want, L?"

"A moment of your fucking time, por favor."

I have no verbal reply to that. I have nothing apart from a dream of my fist hitting his face until his eyes are swollen shut. A fist in his ribs so he can't breathe without being reminded of me. I want to break every bone in his body and delight in the cracking and splintering and popping until it becomes just ambient noise. But I walk away and hear his shoes crunch on the gravel behind me as I leave the marquee, roughly aiming for the tiny building where the coffin is kept, and where, after the coffin is buried, we'll all stand around and make speeches in between stuffing ourselves with bite-sized hors d'oeuvres.

"Don't talk to me," I say, not sure if he's still behind me as I walk across the lawn. I could be saying it to the whole world, the sentiment still applies. I keep my eyes down, but still see people turn to watch me move past them, and I wonder what they think in their little minds. When they see me, what do they think? I don't want to know. I present an image I've honed over a lifetime and they'll see what I present to them. It doesn't matter.

"I don't chase after anyone," L tells me loudly, contradicting his own statement by running up beside me. "Stop trying to make me look like an imbecile."

"You don't need any help with that. And before you start, I have to tell you that there's no point."

"Thanks, but I'll ignore you, if you don't mind. I think, all things considered, that I have more reason to be angry with you than you do with me."

"'That's my boy'?"

"Well, you are, aren't you? Don't worry, you're still safe. How's life in the closet treating you these days?" he asks. I walk more quickly, forcing him to rush to keep up with me. "Ok, I'll share some responsibility. I'm sorry, just... fucking stop, will you?" says, grabbing hold of my arm. I feel my eyes burning as I look at him and how he thinks he can manhandle me to suit himself, but he soaks it up. "In here," he directs me, opening the door to the building. "Get in here now, or do you want me to drag you in? I'll make a scene, and you wouldn't want a scene, would you?"

Only because, no, I never want a scene, my suit's getting damp, the rain plays havoc with my hair, and because there's nowhere else for me to go, I walk inside. He follows me, closes the door, and I realise that we're in the same room as the coffin. Open coffin. Bad decision. He wasn't much to look at when he was alive.

"What is it?"

"Don't you think that we should talk?" he asks.

"No."

"Well, bear with me. I don't think that we had a chance to speak of it yesterday, but a little bird told me that you're planning a merger of the security services."

"Who told you that?"

"Naomi, via Mikami. You should be careful who you speak to."

Fucking Mikami and Naomi. Stephen will know then. In a way, I hope that he does, the little shit.

"Mikami is... he's helping me look into it," I say.

"I wouldn't trust him to look into my letterbox, but each to their own. So, it's true then? Do you think that's wise?"

"I wouldn't propose it if I didn't. It's my belief that corruption is endemic, so I'm cleaning the stables."

"If this gets out, you'll be dead within a fortnight."

"I'm going to prosecute senior figures in the intelligence establishment for corruption. I'd be disappointed if they didn't try to kill me before my changes become irreversible."

"It's not funny. Are you trying to kill yourself? Don't fuck with Intelligence, Light. You leave them alone and they'll leave you alone."

"That's not the kind of superficial authority I want to have. Yes, I'm going to blow the whole thing open: our intelligence, foreign intelligence, our government, foreign governments. They won't like my policies, no, because I want integration, a truly united and honest nation, a stronger economy, a country which will not answer to anyone else."

"It sounds like you want to join NATO or something. You just want to join the club."

"There's a small problem of the North Atlantic standing in the way, but yes, I think that they should make me an exception. I want stronger international relations and respect. I have a lot to offer the alliance, my country has. You know why NATO was set up? To keep the Russians out, the Americans in, and the Germans down. It's that fucking antiquated, but we're not even taken seriously. I want a say on security measures, defence, and deployment which might affect my country's trade. I want a say on intervention, when and if it's necessary."

"You're the Prime Minister of Japan, you're an ally already."

"Ally means nothing. They'll turn on allies. I'm a world leader and I should be seen as such by those bastards. I'm not a lap dog who'll bow down to sheer numbers and fucking Western shit."

"Welcome to the world, Light."

"No, it's not fair."

"Again, welcome to the world. Enjoy your stay."

"Shut up. They won't pick on their own, nor will they nose around in our business. But first we have to be respected. Make them come to me. I have something to offer them and they should fucking see that, so a major reform is one stone, many birds to kill."

"Is this about Stephen?"

"Yes, L. The future of my country is all about Stephen."

"No, because the CIA were over here. That's what's set you off."

"It highlighted an issue which I was aware of anyway. I am not trusted when I should be."

"Light, this is all too much, too soon. You won't do it in time. These things take years. And, you know, you would hammer your head against a closed door for years and no one will answer."

"Thanks for your vote in confidence. Well, it's not like I have a choice, do I? I'm fast tracking. Thank you, L. Do you think anyone else will or could do it? No. Those in the best position are those who are so embedded that even if we're not heard, we're at least a step ahead. Why should my impact be limited to Japan? It's ridiculous. There are a lot of things I want to change. The longer I'm here, the more I find. I want to leave an impression. When my name is mentioned, I want it to be alongside reform and greatness."

"It's not just you though, Light. Do not test your cabinet and run stridently, expecting them to follow. Expecting to be protected by a shield of MPs and security who you know are not truly loyal to you is madness. You are not invincible. Waging war against your own secret services simply because you're an aggressor and determined to take all this on as a personal attack is madness and it will kill you."

"Bullshit."

"Aaaaand you don't listen. Listen, God damn you."

"To you? Who should I listen to, L? My advisors, my cabinet, the people, or you? I don't need to listen to anyone. The people put me here to make decisions on their behalf, and that is what I have done and it's what I will continue to do."

"Consensus isn't even a word for you, is it? You're a one man band."

"Consensus doesn't lead to decision making. Someone has to make clear decisions. Offer them up with yes and no answers and steer things so the right decision is made."

"Decisions which are unwise and unpopular."

"Which are best for the country, for the people. They need a strong leader."

"Well, they've certainly got that. I suppose that's it then. I never could beat any sense into you, could I? You've always done exactly what you wanted."

"I didn't expect to be harangued about my policies and ministerial style. I thought you'd want to talk about..."

"Oh, this?" he asks, pulling down his collar, clicking his tongue. "There didn't seem like much point. You made your position clear as glass when you strangled me, oh, and tried to smother me for good measure. Speaks volumes, that. I take my life in my hands every time I talk to you about anything."

"You slept with Stephen, L. The fucking enemy. I thought that maybe _you_ would show some loyalty."

"For your information, I didn't sleep with Stephen. The only thing I had from him was some bloody awful coffee. And if you weren't such a cunt then I wouldn't have said that I _did_ sleep with him, but it was what you wanted to hear."

"I don't care if you did or you didn't."

"Liar. It's been eating you up inside."

"There's very little sustenance to be had. You were phoning Kiyomi and you have no fucking reason or right to blackmail me."

"Yes I do. Never forget who you're playing with here, Light. Call me fire. I'm sure that you think that you can string me along in exchange for the occasional fuck in a hotel, and that might have worked for you with some people, but not me. I don't even think that you care about that. You just want to keep me on side."

"It's not like that at all," I say, my face downturned. I'm misunderstood again. No understanding, no attempt to see things from my perspective, just a judging, cowardly bastard. Said bastard leans right in towards my face and crosses his arms.

"I don't see this last bill coming any time soon. You haven't even passed the last one, and I don't hear your whips drumming up business, so it probably won't. Then you'll say that it doesn't count, you still have two goes, and in five years time you'll still be promising me the world and delivering nothing. Now you're talking about reforming this and that and I'd rather cut all of it out so, y'know, I can do other things. Meanwhile, you're playing happy families with your wife. You can't knob her, surely. Not right after a baby – it must be all ground beef down there. Are you using the back door?"

"L, please. What Kiyomi says to Naomi isn't reality. We're too old for this jealousy shit."

"Nevertheless, I better see some progress soon," he tells me, but stops when I laugh in amazement, because I'm sure that he'd continue and lay down the law to me otherwise. Fucking unbelievable. "Fine, laugh at me. I just wanted to make sure that you know that Stephen and me... no."

"Maybe I can act as some consolation to you then? Is that what you're thinking?" I ask, feeling my mouth sneer and curl.

"You're not a consolation prize to me; I don't want anyone else, but... we're a mess."

"Nothing new there."

"I know that, dipshit. I just want to sort it out because it shouldn't be like this. Don't you see the shift in things though? Overnight. It wasn't brilliant, but for a few weeks, we were ok. Now Kiyomi's out of hospital, you're over there, you won't talk about anything to me, and we're right back where we were. I shouldn't feel like I come second, or wherever you can fit me in with your schedule. I knew it'd be like this. I'm not surprised, just disappointed."

"I thought you'd know. It's difficult. I can't split myself in two, L. I have to be there. It's not where I would choose to be. I'd be with you, obviously," I say, shrugging my shoulders, more because of my disappointment in myself than anything else.

"No, not 'obviously'."

"L, we're not going to do this 'I love you' shit again, are we?"

"No, but there's a breakdown in communication and it's all your fault, I have to tell you. I, yes, _I_ could not be more supportive of you - fucking wonder, I am – but you should make sure that I know where I stand with you. Because... I don't know!" He throws his hands in the air and lets them drop to his sides in defeat. "I've never known. I should know without being told, shouldn't I? I don't, Light. I don't. To me, it just feels like I'm being pushed out again, and you're all pally with Kiyomi and Light Yagami mk.2. Especially when I heard about this secret service reform, which is fucking mad. Why didn't you talk to me about it or at least ask my opinion?"

"Because that's my business, not yours. And you should know where you stand, yes, but it's not my fault if you don't know. I could tell you twenty times a day and you'd find some other reason not to believe me. I'm not your dad, L."

"You think this is about my father?" he asks, apparently shocked.

"I think that you never knew where you were with him, and now he's gone, you're passing it onto me."

"That's some godawful Freudian shite you've got going there. My father might have been a lot of things, but he never tried to kill me. That's a serious mixed message. What am I supposed to think? Because I'm lost, really. After you left, I thought: 'Why am I letting him do this to me.' If you were anyone else, I'd kill you -"

"You pushed me, L. If you were anyone else, I would have killed you. Look, I... I think that if we talk at the moment, we should talk on the phone or keep it to work. What about Namigawa?"

"Fuck Nakamura, she's dead. You know, I don't expect this to make any difference to you, but I had a dream the other night. I was on a plane, the engines failed and the plane was falling. I knew that I was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it. This man was telling me to stand over the wings of the plane because that's the strongest part, but I was saying, no, that's also where the fuel tank is, you idiot, I have to get to the tail and push some people out of the way. Everyone around me was phoning people and crying and saying how much they loved them. I phoned you. You didn't answer."

"That's a really shit story. I don't even believe that you had that dream, and even if you did, that's a fucking awful thing to say."

"Yeah," he sighs, like I've burst his balloon. "I thought you'd think that."

"What is that supposed to mean anyway?"

"I was dying, I phoned you, and you didn't answer. I don't know, we might need a dream interpreter for this one. Maybe not. When I needed you, you didn't answer. I was thinking of you looking at your phone, knowing that it was me and sending me to voicemail because you were in a meeting, talking to some arse from Transport."

"In your dream, L."

"Dream you is a dick. Real life you is a dick. That's what I'm trying to say."

"That's completely unfair. When have I not answered your calls? This isn't about your dreams and whatever you're trying to say. Am I supposed to apologise that in your dream I didn't answer the phone, or am I supposed to accept this as an excuse for why you spoke to fucking Stephen?"

"You told me to speak to him."

"Speak, yes, in a crowded place. YOU!" I shout, jabbing my finger in his chest. "You were laughing with him."

"No, I -"

"Hawhawhawww, Stephen you're so funny!" I laugh as a fairly good impression of L, I must say. "But you'll come running back 'Oh, Light, he's so boring but he cooks, what am I to do? Blah blah.'"

"I'm not even slightly interested in fucking him. Or you right now, for that matter, because you try to kill me after I do. You're such a baby, spitting your dummy out and knocking your cot over and throwing up on my shoulder because - oh my God - I actually spoke to another person. For you, I might add. So, what's your reaction? You stalk me and try to kill me. Back to old favourites. I can't be trusted because no one can be trusted. You against the world and you're fucking furious about it, but it's what you know, it's what you're comfortable with. You like thinking that everyone's lying to you and you're underestimated and undervalued, but not by me, Light. I know what you are and I love you like no one else does, to the point where I don't mind if I'm the one who's undervalued by you. I'm bloody used to it, everyone does that to me, I've made it useful. But you undervaluing me and not believing me is... I don't like it. I can't stand it. Just listen to me. I'll always be on your side, no matter what you do. Isn't that obvious? You should trust me, whatever I say. You should value me, like you did. But that was only when I wasn't speaking to you, because you don't know what you have until it's not there anymore. Do you think that I'd put up with all your shit if there wasn't something really wrong with me? Because there is something really wrong with me - I love you, you stupid fuck."

Oh.

"I'm not stalking you," I mumble. "I was driving and pulled over to make a few calls. "

"Right where _my_ car was parked, yes. I thought you had a meeting with Watari, but evidently nothing gets in the way of your stalking. You don't need to drive anymore. Why do you insist on driving? It's a security hazard. Big fucking security hazard!" he says, waving his hands. "'Hello, I'm the person who's taxing you to death. Shoot me.' That's what you're saying when you're driving around the way you do. You're asking to get killed."

"If you'd told me what you were doing instead of just pissing off for clandestine meetings and coffee and fuck knows what you were doing, none of this would have happened. And I'm going insane because I don't get a minute to myself. This is hard. Fuckwits at work want my time, journalists want my time, Kiyomi wants my time, my parents want my time, you want my time, and my security guards want to follow me around all the time. Somewhere in there I have to be a prime minister and - ah, wonderful - I'm a father now, so there's another drain on my resources and time."

"You give him your time?"

"No, but he costs a shitload in nappies and formula and do you know how much live-in nannies cost? Fucking extortionate. How hard can it be to look after a baby? She drawing a surgeon's wage off me. And even she follows me, by the way. Either she fancies me or she wants my autograph, I can't tell which. Even when I go to have a fucking piss, people follow me."

"Oh boo hoo."

"You don't know what it's like, L."

"Excuse me, I've only been spending a great deal of my time dodging your security and paparazzi to get the little bit of time with you that I _do_ get. But you asked for this, Light. You wanted it, I helped you. And now that you've got it, you're still not happy. Out the way."

He pushes me away to grabs the chair which was next to me and wedges the back of it under the door handle. I watch him, completely mystified as to why he'd barricade us both in with a dead man.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"We're having an argument," he says. "Do really think I'm going to let someone interrupt when we're not finished?"

"They're going to want to take him soon, you know. To bury him."

"Well, they can wait. He can. At least if you kill me here it saves time for the funeral."

He walks over to the coffin and gazes down into it - at Finance's plastic, bloated, orange, rosy-cheeked face. Soleil Tan de Chanel, I think. Kiyomi uses it sometimes. A little goes a long way, but whoever's made Sato up must be colourblind or he's been left out in the sun, because I don't remember him having a tan like that when he was alive. I join L out of morbid curiosity and we both look at the terrible job the mortician has made of what was once Finance, and wonder why they bothered. Why did any of us bother? L starts unwrapping a sweet in our silence, pops it in his mouth and chucks the wrapper between Finance's legs.

"Don't put wrappers in the coffin, L."

"That fucking dick? This is a waste of a good coffin. Nakamura next week though, God. I'm clearing up her legacy of shit and finding out some pretty awful things and paying people off and it makes me sick. Everyone should know what that woman was involved in, but no, we'll all turn up for her funeral, saying what a good person she was. And you're going to make a speech to that effect, because you're completely spineless."

"She's dead; that's enough for me. I don't need another scandal and inquiry right now. You're just overreacting again."

"I don't think so. I don't trust you and I'm really angry with you," he tells me, practically pinning me to the side of the coffin, which is on an already rickety-looking table underneath this tablecloth - the sort I've seen people use to paste wallpaper. Suddenly L loses all his ferocity and looks at his shoes, and I feel like I'm on some really fucked up and realistic haunted house roller coaster ride. "And I love you," he says sulkily. "You need to know that bit, because it explains the rest."

"Ditto," I reply. "Ok then."

"Is that it?" he asks.

"Um hm."

"I thought that you'd want to finish what you started. Just carry on, I really don't care anymore. You'd be doing me a favour."

"I didn't kill you for a reason. What could it be? Think."

"Because you were doing such a shit job of it? You left your umbrella with 'Light Yagami' on the handle and everything. I despair of you sometimes."

"That wasn't the reason."

"Lucky me. Well, you show your love in strange ways, but I knew that," he tells me, but I'm still looking at Finance until L nudges me. "Hey. I'm sorry that I'm a dickhead."

"You are a dickhead, but you're my dickhead," I say, and I can't help but smile when he laughs, then I grasp him into something which seems more platonic than anything else. I'm not a hugging person. L's not a hugging person. It's very awkward until he kisses my shoulder and it feels less like I'm seeing off someone I vaguely know at an airport.

"Don't leave me, Light. I'd give up everything for you. I would. That's why I don't understand you... you should be the same as me. I can't think straight."

"If this was as easy as walking out the door then I'd do it" I twist to kiss the side of his neck where it looks angry and hurt, and I can't believe that I was so fucking stupid. I think of Finance watching this from where he is now, wherever that is, seeing me in some crystal ball and when he turns around to tell someone, he's alone in a small room which doesn't have any doors or windows. That's what hell is to me. "I'm sorry, L."

"It doesn't hurt," he says, pulling away to hitch up his collar again, but I lean over to inspect it more closely. It's even worse under the collar. "Oooh, unless you do that," he cringes, pulling out of my reach and pawing at his eye. "God, I'm so tired. It's annoying."

"Go home."

"No, that's not it. You don't know, do you? You still have no idea."

"Give me an hour. As soon as they bury this guy and I give my speech, I'll drive you. I'm free after this."

"No, Stephen's there," he says, fading away, regretful that he told me. I look back at Finance and the wreaths of white flowers on the table behind him. "To get the rest of his things," L explains, rubbing his eye again. He slouches only slightly, but loses several inches of height in doing so.

"Yeah."

"I wish that you'd believe me. I wish I could believe you. Well, better let them bury this fucker, I guess," he sighs, and somehow I feel like nothing has been said, no peace has been made, nothing's changed; anger has just turned to this resigned sadness instead.

"Wait a minute," I say, grabbing his arm before he moves away.

"I'm losing you, aren't I?" he whispers. No, no, but I don't know what to say. I just don't want us to leave this place with him thinking that I don't care, and with me thinking that he's hiding things from me in some conspiracy with Stephen which involves a lot of sex and nice words and bad coffee. I hate the idea, but if I had to make a choice between who would be saved and who would die, I'd choose L's life over everyone else's. I wouldn't even have to think about it, whoever was put against him. I'd be grateful for being able to make such an easy decision for an exchange.

"No... look, come over here."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

"You love me more than anyone else."

"Yes, I do."

All these promises uttered on whispering breaths make them as ephemeral as they feel to me right now. I can imagine resigning, telling Kiyomi, telling my family, going to court, L hiding the papers and the TV remote from me to create some isolation booth and endless holiday for me to live in which is free from real criticism, but it's almost nightmarish and something I keep thinking that I could avoid. I think it may be even worse than I imagine when it actually happens. That's the worst thing about it. But L, who's been trying to read me - a closed book – in silence for nearly a minute, eventually drops the loose hold he has on my hand to palm his forehead instead.

"Fuck, I can't believe you."

"You can believe me." I say, suddenly desperate to be believed by someone for the truth and not for some presentation that I want them to believe.

"No, you don't love anyone. You just like me a bit."

"More than a bit. Listen. Three months and then... well, I'll be unemployed. Is Stephen leaving the country?"

"I told him that he should go."

"Good. Don't give him any reason to stay."

"I wasn't going to... I wish you trusted me."

"Give me a reason to trust you and maybe I would."

"You mean that I haven't?" he asks, and I see the anger in his eyes surge and change him, almost like he's been possessed, but it passes as quickly as it came. "No, I suppose that I haven't. But you know, every time your mouth moves I think that you're lying to me."

"Do some self-introspection, L. Think how I feel. I know that it's difficult now, but we've been through it before. I think once we take all these incidentals out of the equation then we'll be fine."

"Incidentals? Yes, we'll either be ecstatically happy or we'll get bored with each other. I know you worry about that. I worry about that. I think sometimes: 'God, I wish he'd relax and wear a t-shirt or something,' but then I think: 'No, I don't want him to do that because that's not him.' What if you do that and you become one of those boring people who make boats out of matchsticks?"

"A prisoner with a life sentence?"

"No."

"Stephen?"

"Light," he says, letting his head drop to one side as he rolls his eyes at me. "And I worry that you'll finish your career, break up your life and family and humiliate yourself in the press for nothing long term. Basically, I'm worried about you and I don't know why. I should worry about me."

"Well, I don't worry about any of that. I don't. If there's nothing for us to fight about and all the obstacles are gone, do you think we'll get bored? Do you really think that?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I'm not a steady relationship man, and I've never... I've never... well, kind of depended on anyone else. I mean, I usually hand the reins over to the other person and the only thing that changes is that I'll always have a plus one, you know? But you don't know how it's going to go and neither do I. I've been dumped in the Antarctic without a map here."

"Don't overcomplicate things before they've started. Anyway, we've been fucking around for a long time. I think we'll be ok."

"But it's never been steady," he says. "Steady as the fucking Titanic going down."

"I care more about you than I do about myself and I don't want to think that'll change," I admit, then push my hair off my forehead like I've just done twelves hours of hard labour in the blistering heat. "Ok, I worry about it, but somehow I think it'll be ok. I will make it ok. I'm not going to find anyone else like you, am I? You stay with me, or I'll fucking murder you. I won't be able to go back after this."

"You don't know how happy that makes me," he smiles. "Not the vision of my possible murder, since we did a rehearsal of that and it wasn't fun, but I believe you. I think it'll be ok. I'll just have to stop you from being bored, won't I? That should be easy enough. I'll hide your clothes so you'll have an Easter egg hunt every day."

"I won't need clothes then. Hide all my suits, I probably won't have any cause to leave the house for months."

"You'll find something else to do, Light. You're too special not to."

"There's always the backbenches again, until a local election and I lose my seat. Ever so slightly humiliating, but... I don't know."

"I don't think you'll lose it."

"Well, if I don't, I could be a foreign ambassador, maybe. They normally look after ex-PMs, even the ones who leave under a cloud."

"Yes! That's it. Optimism. Looking for alternatives. And there's always law. I've always thought that you'd be a great lawyer. I'd hire you like that," he tells me with a snap of his fingers for effect. "And it's not all nepotism, honestly. I'll phone Stephen and ask him to clear out by three. Can you swing it so you can stay at mine for the night?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good boy," he says, but his eyes lower to the floor until he's the epitome of sadness again.

"What's wrong now?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking that I look at things there and think how empty it is without you. I miss you when you're not there, because you're always here," he says, tapping his head. Oh God, this is getting a bit much for me. I think we're on the line of this becoming a scene in a film which Misa would star in. "When you're not there, it just makes me think of you more."

"You're not going to cry, are you?" I ask.

"I don't cry," he scowls. "I didn't cry when my father died or when the Berlin Wall fell, I don't think I'll cry over you now."

"Ok. As long as you don't. And I'm sorry for -"

"Not a word about it. I forgive you for trying to strangle me, but only because you looked like a centrefold while you were doing it."

"In Angry Men in Suits magazine?"

"Oh, you don't know the magazines I buy," he says, smiling as he leans in so our lips nearly touch as he speaks. I think about it, but no. I smile about it though and kiss him quickly. It's a nice idea.

"And I think that's my cue to go."

"You're leaving again?" he asks as I walk away. "Can we talk about the 'you always leaving' thing?"

"They're going to want to bury him soon, L." He needs a reminder, but he doesn't give up so easy. Nor does he see reason when reason doesn't compliment his agenda.

"Let's give him a send off then."

"And some men will be coming in here to get his body to bury him. Call Stephen and get him out of there because I'll be over there this afternoon and if he's there, there will be another funeral. And don't get needy. It's very unattractive," I tell him, pulling the chair from the door and opening it. The coast is still clear, thank God. I had visions of L and me hiding under that table.

"Are you really going to leave me like this?"

"L, you're always like this," I say tiredly, and close the door.

* * *

At four, I head over to L's using an unusual mode of transport. I'm prepared to peer through his window to find Stephen naked apart from a novelty apron, but thankfully that's not the case. I can't see L either though, so I call his phone, only to see him come out of his office inside the house. I'm in plain view standing outside the glass doors at the back of his house, but he wanders around, vacantly looking at his phone ring for a fairly long time before he answers it.

"Is he gone?"

"Yeah. Hello."

"I'm outside."

"What?" he asks and turns around to see me standing outside like a psycho in a horror film. "Oh. Hello."

"Could you? Um," I say into the phone and point at the locked door. It takes him a moment, but he duly walks over and lets me inside.

"Sorry," he says, switching his phone off. "How did you explain this?"

"I just left. Borrowed Touta's car."

"You didn't have to, Light," he tells me, and watches me walk to his bedroom to check for signs of Stephen, or possibly Stephen himself. I don't find him there, but the bed isn't made.

"I know," I say, turning back to him with a smile. "I don't have to do anything. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit."

"Right. Early dinner?"

"Ok. I was going to order something in anyway."

"Yeah, do that."

"You're staying?"

"Kiyomi's spending the night at her mother's."

"Any particular reason?"

"She's ill. Her mother. She's dying, I hope. Her hips are fucked anyway. She'll be all titanium by the time she's finished."

"Many happy returns of the day."

"Thanks," I say. I wonder if I can keep my thoughts to myself, but then I find myself fighting against logic. L rarely makes his bed presentable in the morning or ever, unless someone does it for him. Me, probably Stephen did, or his housekeeper who sweeps up on Tuesdays. It doesn't mean that he's fucked anyone - it just means that he's a lazy, messy bastard. I decide to settle on this until I have more reason for suspicion, but then I go into L's bedroom and open the wardrobe to find a lot of Stephen's clothes still inside. I stare at them in amazement.

"He's coming back for those. His car was too full to take them today and he's short on storage space. They're things he doesn't wear anymore." L tells me. He sounds more weary than guilty and I want to believe him, though I have no cause to. Why doesn't Stephen hire a moving firm with storage like ordinary people? Does he have to do everything himself? He's probably whittling a house with lots of storage space at this very moment.

"He's still at Naomi's?"

"He hasn't decided whether he's going back to the US or not, but I've told him that he should. His grandmother isn't well. Can we not talk about him? What do you want to order?"

"I don't give a shit," I snap. My eyes drift over folded jeans. "Sorry. Anything."

"Don't make me choose, Light. You never like what I order."

"Is he taking his boat?" I ask.

"I don't know."

"You'd think that he'd want it. You gave it to him, didn't you?"

"Light -"

"I really fucking hate Stephen, L," I say, closing the wardrobe doors and force a smile when I turn back to him. "I'd like... yakitori, I think. Chicken."

"The swans are back. Can I interest you in one of those?" He smiles. I smile. "I'll order... something. Yakitori, I guess."

He leaves me in the bedroom, and after a few minutes, I follow the sound of his voice as he orders until I find him in the kitchen, putting his phone on the counter.

"Thanks for coming over. This has been the worst day. The worst week, really," he says quietly and it slips easily into silence. I'm about to reply when my phone rings. I check it quickly and out of the corner of my eye I see him watching me while holding two plates in his hands, then I switch the phone off, putting it next to L's on the counter.

"Have you got any wine?" I ask.

"Who was that?"

"Security," I answer, then scan his empty wine rack before starting a grand-scale search. "L, you don't have any wine."

"Do they know where you are?"

"No. I'll call them in a while."

"It gets to you, doesn't it? Everyone needing to know where you are."

"It's not for much longer," I say, triumphantly holding up a bottle of champagne from the fridge. I'd say that he smiles but it's little more than one corner of his mouth lifting minutely. I find glasses, and though I don't normally drink on a empty stomach and yakitori won't mix well with it at all, champagne is a universal exception. Just as I pull the cork from the bottle with a resounding and celebratory pop, I notice some brochures on the counter and stare at them like I've never seen one before in my life. It obviously makes L anxious and need to explain himself.

"I was... I know we weren't talking, but I was looking at houses. I like houses."

"Ok."

"You did say to look at houses, so I did. This estate agent is a client of mine and dropped these off today. I got his daughter off a manslaughter char... sorry. He'd give us a good deal, so if you see anything you like the look of."

Jesus fuck, we're buying a house.

"L, why have you got information on a fucking castle?" is all I can say, pushing it aside to get to more sensible options and pour champagne with such little sense of luxury and occasion that I doubt that champagne has ever been so mistreated.

"Oh, I just requested that one because I was nosey. To see what the inside of a homely castle looks like, y'know."

"Hmmm... you like this one?" I ask. He's put a cross next to it, so that means one of two things.

"I thought you'd like it."

I do, actually, and I take hold of his hand without taking my eyes from the page. When he continues after a second, he sounds considerably less depressed, having taken on the persona of a soft-spoken salesman. "It's not too far out from the city and the security is good because it belongs to a filmstar or something. It has everything. We'd never have to leave the house."

"What about your old house?"

"I'd have to give my tenants notice. And the security there is shit, Light. You will need some safeguarding. All ex-PM's do."

"Fine," I say, push the brochure to one side to put my champagne in its place and draw out a cigarette which I tap on the counter for no real reason. "I'll buy it."

"No, I'll buy it."

"I thought we were splitting it?"

"We are. Transfer some money over to the firm. Actually, this would be a good opportunity to hide some of your assets, then we can limit what Kiyomi can claim. You'll have to give me the name of your accountant."

"Ok."

"Don't you want to see it first?"

"The house? No. It looks fine. It has a swimming pool." I sound like I'm not really interested but I'm more shocked at this whole thing.

"Yes, Light, you've finally made it. You'll have a swimming pool," he laughs, but reverts back to sounding thoughtful and shocked himself. "I've never bought a house with someone else before."

"Neither have I," I say, and after a moment I feel some delayed panic which is tainted with regret and makes my voice whispery. "L, I nearly killed you."

"It was provoked," he says and chinks my champagne glass with his own. "Crime passionnel."

"No. I lost my head. Don't make excuses for it."

He doesn't answer and I don't expect him to, but he takes a seat next to me, puts his hand on my back and bends down to look at my face, because I'm so busy staring at my unlit cigarette. "I think we can safely say that I had something to do with you losing your head. When I get upset, I tend to take everyone down, like I think you do, but I don't want to do that to you. You're a good man, Light. Don't think about it anymore."

"The thought of you with someone else makes me really -"

"Yeah, I know. I'm the same. It's a territorial thing, and it's the ego. You don't like to think that you're so easily replaced. I was cruel, I'm sorry. I took all I could find at the time, which was your insecurity, and I used it against you."

"Maybe."

"Well, just so you know, you're not easily replaceable. You're irreplaceable to me. And I should know better than to get upset about Kiyomi, but Kira, he..."

"He's a baby, L."

"Yes, he's your baby. You have the pre-packed family and roses in the garden, and then there's me. I told you it was ego related."

"They don't mean anything to me compared to you," I tell him, turning to look at him.

"Thank you. I was thinking, I don't suppose that I could convince you to emigrate, could I?"

"Emigrate? I need to stay near Tokyo."

"I thought you'd say that."

"Why emigrate?"

"It's easier. But you never do easy, do you. I'm sick of this country, Light. You're the only good thing in it and I want to take you with me."

"I can't. I belong here." It's my instinctive reaction. Leaving the country never entered my mind. It'd be like running away, but it _would_ be easier and I realise that. My voice breaks a little, so I must recognise that it'd be easier to run away and start again somewhere else.

"Ok," L tells me, and rubs my back. He must think that I'm going to cry because of how I must look, but he's just thrown this at me with no time to think.

"I can't ignore my responsibilities."

"I know. You shouldn't."

"L, if I could, I'd go anywhere you wanted to go. It must be nice to feel like you're not tied to anything."

He smiles blandly and stands up clear up the brochures from the counter. "I wouldn't know," he says.

* * *

A week later, L hasn't complained about our situation once, and as such he has become a sanctuary to me again. I presume that I must be a terrible husband on the surface, because I spend more and more time away because I have a book to write, for all intents and purposes. Everyone who needs to know is now aware that officially L's letting me use the boathouse (I bought him) so that I can write undisturbed. That's what we're telling people, but Kiyomi doesn't seem to mind anyway. We go to the opera, something which normally fills me with dread, but I am actually looking forward to this one because I'll be having a productive intermission. It's only the second time that Kiyomi's been out for an official engagement since her 'convalescence', as she keeps telling me. It's a bit of a greatest hits thing, fresh from La Scala in Milan, and I can't understand a word of it but the singers are terribly emotional and robust. Mikami pretends to know about opera since his mother apparently was very keen on it, but at one point I hear him tell Naomi that a particular aria is by someone named Tosca and that it's not one of his best. Kiyomi looked at me, chuckled discreetly into her hand, and I checked my watch. There was me thinking that I was clueless where opera is concerned. After twenty minutes, I sigh loudly and excuse myself, saying that I'm going to see a couple of guys from PR, which isn't a complete lie. There's a tense moment when Mikami, who's incredibly bored, is going to join me, but I put him off by saying that I'm going to be discussing a statement about Kira to go alongside his first official photographs, which are going to be released next week.

Security follow me along the narrow, curving corridors, and the brightness is such that when I enter the pitch black of box 102, I'm hit by a sense of vertigo which L takes full advantage of immediately. He booked this box to keep empty for the chance of a small indiscretion which I was fully intent of having if I had to go to the opera at all. The men on the stage sing so loudly that it's not even worth trying to speak, but L draws a heavy velvet curtain like a shield to hide us from the auditorium, and we stand behind it so we're close enough that L can whisper scrapes of a translation of the warbling to me in between lazy but still chaotically messy kisses. His synopsises of the operas are incredibly funny in their brevity and scathing tone, but with a touch of nostalgia. His favourite is _The Pearl Fishers_ because he thinks that it has a homoerotic subplot, which I'm positive is a figment of his imagination. I can't hear a lot of what he says - just the odd disjointed word during quiet sections of the bawling on the stage - and I tell him so as I feel my flat hand down his trousers to make him shut up. I don't really give a shit about it until afterwards. Just once, when he's slowly blotting my jawline with kisses while I look through the threadbare curtains behind me to see only lights and movement through the weave, I wonder whether the earnest outpouring from the duo is just a recipe for mille-feulle, though L assures me that it's about us. Since it was written in the 1800s, I really doubt it, but he says so twice right into my ear so it couples with the sound from the orchestra in my mind.

I'm there for about fifteen minutes and I think of the wasted seats, the expense of booking a box at the opera just so we could do fairly innocent things to each other behind a curtain while two men sing in French, and with my wife and Naomi and Mikami sitting in the box next to us. The intermission comes and L joins my party in the so-called royal box, saying that the rest of PR didn't turn up, so he was sitting in a box by himself and was about to leave until I invited him to join us. This is accepted and he's welcomed into the fold. Half-way through the second act, he passes me a note from where he's sitting behind me, which I read somewhat covertly behind an opera programme from the light of my phone.

'You should try to fill these gaps within your education, Light. Your knowledge of music is severely lacking, as is your concentration, your soul, and possibly your sense of hearing.

_'What unknown fire is destroying me? Your hand pushes mine away. Love takes our hearts by storm and turns us into enemies. No, let nothing part us. No, nothing. Let nothing part us. Let us swear to remain friends. Oh yes, let us swear to remain friends. And, faithful to my promise, I wish to cherish you like a brother. Yes, let us share the same fate, let us be united until death._

'Cheery, isn't it? Most men would have a pint at the pub and call it quits, but operatic people are so fond of drama._'_

I'm nearly sick, but in the end I decide that it must be love or something like it. No, it definitely is; I know it now, I know its name. L doesn't cherish either of his brothers, but I'm pretty sure that he hasn't fucked either of them and that he holds me in higher esteem anyway. I fold the piece of paper, put it in my inside breast pocket and smile over my shoulder. And just like that, I'm back to being a fawning idiot, hanging on his every word over dinner in the private dining room behind the box, quietly hating myself. The alternative would be to hang on Kiyomi's every word while she regales us on the wonders of childbirth and taps her nails against her wine glass though, and I'd rather hang _myself_ than become emotionally involved in that tale of woe. L asks if she was in any pain and is visibly saddened to hear that she wasn't, only minor discomfort.


	27. But This Light Is Not For Those Men

**A/N** I finished this a few days ago but it was hundreds of thousands of words long, so I edited it today. It's still stupidly long though. Spread it out. I can't be held responsible for any psychological or optical damage caused by reading it in one sitting and I really don't recommend it. I think this thing is turning into The Lord of the Rings, only without the literary brilliance and elves. I could just do plot and it'll be done in one chapter, but unfortunately there's always going to be emotional woozies to spread it out, because this is a character study of an emotionally constipated man as much as anything else. He now has a bad case of the runs. Good news! I'm planned out for 30 chapters, so we're on the home straight now. *collapses* Boom! Plot at the end. Don't skip to see what it is. Michelle, I'm looking at you.

* * *

******Chapter Twenty Six**

******But This Light Is Not For Those Men, Still Lost In An Old Black Shadow**

_"One can only give one's audience the chance of drawing their own conclusions as they observe the limitations, the prejudices, the idiosyncrasies of the speaker. Fiction here is likely to contain more truth than fact. 'I' is only a convenient term for somebody who has no real being. Lies will flow from my lips, but there may perhaps be some truth mixed up with them; it is for you to seek out this truth and to decide whether any part of it is worth keeping."_

~ Virginia Woolf

* * *

My fingers drag across my lips.******  
**

"I've always thought how strange it is - once I realised that other people must be similar in some respects - how we're all crammed together, but we're alone with our thoughts. Trapped with them. Over 13 million people in Tokyo alone and more than 7 billion stuffed onto the planet, breeding at a rate of 134 million a year while deaths are only 56 million a year, but we're all trapped alone with our thoughts, though we're surrounded by other people. I like the irony of that. It's very cruel. It almost makes me believe in God, because only a god's interference could be that sadistic. Everyone wants to express those thoughts in some way, physically or vocally, and to the greatest number of people possible, which explains the popularity of social media, I guess. It makes them feel important and heard. Why? Perhaps to find a soulmate – someone who'll listen and _share _their thoughts – someone who'll care and say: 'Yes, you're right! I don't know why I never saw things that way.' It's difficult to say all you have to say about what you love and hate and why. And even if you do, by some miracle, find an audience, I can't imagine that anyone would listen for more than one minute before trying to jump in to agree or disagree or change the subject to something which they want to talk about. What they're really hoping for isn't to hear someone else, but to be given an opportunity to be heard themselves. Everything we do say is merely sound bites. Even my speeches are edited and snipped into digestible chunks for public consumption. But while everyone thinks that their views are the most important ones, mine actually are. What I say affects a nation, but not much has really changed since I was just one of the people. I'm protected like a rare and valuable commodity, but sometimes I wonder why when I'm fighting against human nature, which is to speak and not to listen.

"Before this age of everyone shouting in 140 characters, attaching themselves to hashtags and preaching on blogs like everyone's an independent newspaper begging to be heard about fascinating subjects such as what they had for breakfast and what their cat did, people found some other way to ease this intense need to express and share. But it's not sharing; there's no one to share in it because we've all lost the ability to listen, and maybe we never had that ability in the first place. I spent a lot of time listening, watching, disregarding, conceding, bending, changing my outward appearance and personality and availability to suit, and it got me here. Everyone wants to talk about themselves, everyone. If everyone wants to do that, who is there to listen, really? No one. So we're all trapped with our thoughts on trains, graffiti on the windows and each line and marking and scratch and word is a scream to be recognised. 'I am alive, I am a person!' but we're going nowhere, just wishing someone cared as much as we do about something banal. Nobody cares.

"What were you saying? Oh, yeah. Well, the expectation of me is to allow myself to be... I don't know, ___possessed _by every person in this country, to hear and understand and see every problem that affects them, and to fix it. I'm the messiah and the liberator, aren't I? What am I supposed to say? 'So, what are your thoughts? Do they compliment mine? Let me help you because you're the most important thing in my world. Let's be friends. Let's not.' What I am means more than who I am. I must synergise with my policies, allegiance and what the people expect of me. Who I am is represented by my tie. Details about my private life and my likes and dislikes are kept to a minimum, because those things make me human and equal and easy to mock. Maybe they'd be shocked by how little I like and how much I dislike. Yes, they'd be shocked. They'd be horrified. I want to say to them: 'Let's not pretend that I'm like you, because how could you respect me if I was?' The voice in my head shouts the loudest and the clearest. I can't believe that anyone else has this same burden of thought."

"Yeah, it's just you. You and the rest of the fucking world," he tells me, managing to hold his mug of tea steady and balanced while he pulls his legs into a crossed-legged, lazily meditative position on the bed. The denim of his jeans buckles behind his knees, a crescent of skin slices between the thick waistband and his long-sleeved, white t-shirt, and I forget what I was talking about. It couldn't have been very important. He blows at the steam rising from the surface of his tea while I admire how he makes something so simple seem so graceful and calming. "What do you think is spinning around in my brain most of the time? Nothing?" he asks me.

"Sex and money."

"Ha!" he splutters through a badly-timed sip of tea. "Not as often as you'd think. I don't know, I suppose that you're just too cerebral for this world, Light."

"I _know_ that other people think to some degree, I just find it perverse that we're all locked inside, trying to find a platform to speak. There's too much thinking and speaking at the same time and not enough action."

"Sorry, all I heard then was: 'Everyone talks too much when they should be listening to me.' Just because you're PM doesn't mean that your thoughts are any more important than anyone else's. Me, I find thinking for the sake of thinking to be depressing when you overindulge, and you enjoy the misery of it too much."

"Hold on, have I got this right? Are you telling me to ___stop _thinking?"

"Maybe don't think quite as much as you do, that's all I'm saying. Don't tear everything apart into sterile little pieces. And _I_ listen to you. Sometimes I wish that I didn't, like now, but I do. Shall we investigate why people don't listen to you then? Obviously speaking as an unbiased PR man and a man of the world, not my very biased opinion as your up the arse man."

"Yeah, hit me with it."

"Ok. Your speeches are very long and cliché. You lock onto clichés to get your message across in a stirring, warlord way, as you see it. You should be more honest. You might think that it's boring and it won't work for you, but it'd be refreshing. Just say: 'I'm doing what I think is best for this country. These are the facts, these are the options, these are the financial and moral constraints, this is why I'm doing what I'm doing. It'll never be perfect but I will try to make it as near perfect as it could possibly be.' Plain facts, simplify. Don't try to confuse people out of listening by using a labyrinth of political terminology. You talk about being isolated, but you isolate yourself."

"I want to be isolated. I just want to say fuck off to the lot of them."

"And that would be the best resignation speech of any minister in any government in any country, ever. 'Stick your fucking job!'"

"Hmmm... Honesty and laying everything out on a table? I'm sure that must have been done, and it must have ended badly, because it didn't catch on. I like the idea of it, but I can't be seen to patronise people. They should know the terminology anyway – it's important."

"How can you patronise people with the truth?"

"I don't know, they just don't want it. They'd think that I was weak and begging for public opinion."

"I think they'd appreciate it. If you made politics seem like a responsibility which everyone can contribute to, not just a load of men in suits, then voting rates would rise, young people would be interested, there wouldn't be the despair that they can't do anything because the government will do what they want to do, regardless of public opinion. We're nothing without power. The power of force. Forcing people to involuntarily behave in a certain way through the threat of loss of liberty or money. Those threats rule everyone's lives and the power of it can allow governments to do something good or something incredibly harmful. Without the government, even law is just a suggestion. Courts can say one thing, but the country doesn't have to comply unless the government forces them to. You should let the people feel like they have power, even if they ultimately don't."

"No. No, you know what they'd do?" I ask, drawing my legs too and turning to face him, suddenly animated by the hopelessness of the prospect of becoming someone pitching an idea to a board of idiots. "You know what they'd do? They'd... they'd vote for the opposition, that's what they'd do. Because they love lies."

"I completely disagree. Lying is necessary for protection, but no one loves being lied to. They expect to be lied to by you and I think that's sad, that's all. I'm not saying that you should talk to people like they're five-year-olds, but these are people problems and you should bring it down a level. Sometimes I'm not sure if you're a politician or a lecturer of nuclear physics."

"Sssss..."

"No, seriously. You sound like you're making words up purposefully to make yourself sound superior to everyone else. You're evasive and sometimes downright argumentative. I'm not speaking just about you, because all politicians are the same, but _you_ have the potential to be something else entirely. I saw that when I met you. I thought; 'He's lying. He's a liar. So why do I believe him?' I believed you because you do really did want to make things better and the truth shines through, even if it sounds like lies at first. And that's sad, because I expected you to be lying _because_ you're a politician. It wasn't political babble and showing off in an inquiry though, it was the truth and you were just trying to protect yourself and get as far as you could by playing the bastards at their own game. But now you're at the top and it's like you've forgotten how to be human and why were you were trying to get there in the first place, because you've been poisoned by all the shit. You're too practiced, too calm and too unfeeling."

"Oh, sorry. Should I panic on stage? Will that help? I'll use flashcards and wear dungarees and cry when something bad happens."

"That's what I mean – 'on stage.' This isn't a play and you aren't the main character, Light. You're the narrator who makes sure that everyone knows what's going on, but you lie to them. This is all part of your job, yes, but it's also your life and you should let people see and hear how you feel about things, not put on a show for them of this stalwart, emotionless but dependable head boy. You're not very likeable as a personality, and personality matters. That's what would see you off."

"People like me."

"No, they ___liked_ you. You were likeable and you're very good looking and that counts for a lot in this game, but only at the start. People tire of faces quickly, so you have to back it up. Before you were the head honcho, you made jokes and they were almost funny, but now you don't make jokes, your smiles look fake, your manner is too reserved and the passion is gone. You rip the opposition apart and that's very entertaining, but you do it in such a bitter and mean way now. There's no wit in it, you just verbally crush people. You're... well, your press is less enthusiastic and more: 'Oh, here he comes again in another suit. If he stopped buying suits, the entire economy would collapse.'"

"This is great advice. I don't know what I did without it. So, you're saying that if I don't wear a tie, have some plastic surgery every six months, crack some jokes and be friendly with the opposition, then I'll be likeable?"

"I think that you should listen to people. Do what you say that people don't do, what you're moaning about. The opposition ___can_ have good ideas and questions sometimes, and if you don't listen to them then you're cutting your own nose off to spite your face, and you look incredibly obstinate. Use them, listen to people, give them credit if you think that they have a point instead of automatically going on the defensive. Now, make me another cup of tea, there's a dear," he tells me, taking his t-shirt off.

"Make it yourself."

"But, Light. I thought that we were in lurrrrve," he says in his Misa voice.

"I don't know what gave you that idea."

"People make cups of tea for those they love."

"Is that how Starbucks stay in business? The love of humanity?"

He looks at me from where he is, with no movement, not a word, just a hazy regard for me and a knowledge that I'm going to do what I end up doing. I sigh and pull myself out of bed and go into the kitchen, hearing his fingers start to type as I leave.

While I wait for the kettle to boil, I phone Kiyomi, because I should have called her last night. If I don't draw attention to it by apologising then she won't. She answers the phone and I hear drilling noises and hammering before I hear her, because the place is a worksite when I'm not there.

"Hi, Light."

"Hi."

"How's it going there? Are you making us a fortune?"

"I think I've made progress. I write better at night."

"I didn't take you for a night owl. Well, Kira's been screaming all night long, so I slept in your room and, going by Kira, I didn't sleep like a baby, I slept like a log."

"Is he ok?"

"Kira? Yes, he's fine. He's just a screamer. The doctor came over to weigh him yesterday afternoon and he's got a clean bill of health. Hold on, I can't hear you with all this noise. Wait a second." I wait, and the kettle begins it's slowly rattle into boiling until she comes returns. "So, when will you be back? Shall I send the driver over to pick you up?"

"I want to write another chapter while I've got the chance. I'll call them when I'm ready."

"Oh, alright. Naomi and Teru are coming over later, it'd be nice if you could... Ha! It feels funny to ask you if you could be there."

"What time?"

"Around seven."

"I'll be there for seven."

"They'll think it's strange if you're not there, maybe, but I don't mean to pressure you. I know how important your work is for this book... thing. How's Lawliet?"

"I haven't seen him."

"You should take a break, see how he is and then get some sleep. And ask him if he wants to join us for dinner. I'll invite Stephen, but don't tell Lawliet."

"I think he's busy later and I just want a quiet night. Naomi and Mikami is more than enough."

"I could cancel if you want. We could have a quiet night -"

"No, it's fine." The kettle boils and that's the end of the time I have for Kiyomi. "Well, I'll see you later then."

"Don't work too hard. Work hard, but not too hard. It's Sunday, after all. See you later."

Yes.

I carry the two mugs back into the bedroom and pass L his tea. He's balancing his laptop on his thighs, and the sight of him working when I should be working, and with us being so domestic all of a sudden, fills me with a kind of peace.

"Earthquake in India. Looks pretty bad," he says without looking up from the screen as I climb in next to him. I see a picture of rubble from my angle. How sad. A very typical, human response, whether I really think that or not. Maybe we're trained to empathise with disasters when really we're thankful that we're not a part of it. Maybe empathy isn't empathy, it's selfishness and should be redefined. I should have a response, so I say the second thing which comes into my head: the response of my position.

"Oh. They'll be wanting money then."

"It would be nice of you to offer your sympathy and support. I'll send a statement to the Indian Embassy and the press now and explain how you would send money, but the relief fund is empty because you've had to buy two new suits. Do you want to write it, or shall I?"

"You do it," I mumble, but he's already scrolling and clicking and typing. I wonder at myself for not showing more interest in what he's typing. He could be writing any old thing for all I know. I switch the muted TV off and lean on one arm, pick up a book, but let it droop in my hand because my eyes become fixed on the slightly open window behind L. He must have opened it while I was gone because it's uncomfortably humid today, but it makes me imagine that there's someone listening outside. The breeze makes the rods of the blind knock and shudder, the light dances geometric shapes through it, a bird sings outside, and I look at L instead.

There is something of winter about him, which is a strange thing to say at this time of year, but he doesn't suit this brightness and heat at all. Everything's dead on the surface but green with renewed life under the snow, if you look hard enough. He sits propped against pillows and his elbow brushes my arm as he types. I become so aware of it that it almost feels like burning, but I don't move away. It'll be like a watch I put on; you're hyper aware of how alien it is at first, but you adjust to it over time. That's L summed up for me, I think. I watch the flicker of his curving lashes, which are absurdly long like a deer's. He's not beautiful, not in a classical sense, but in an interesting way that I haven't grown tired of yet. My eyes wander over his fluid back, the buckled shoulders, the notches of vertebrae and slender ribs under the perfect, water-like skin. His focused gaze shift across the screen again and again like a pendulum, drifting further down, checking what he's writing as he goes, and his tapered and unconsciously bitten fingernails press on the keys like a piano. I think of how some of what he says makes sense to me. I think of how he's a better man than he thinks he is. I think of how his eyes remind me of opals when they reflect the screen like this. I think of how he smells of pineapple and bergamot and lemon and nutmeg and jasmine and musk and cedar. I think of how lucky I feel.

So I don't make it back for seven. I don't make it back at all. I have research to do, that's what I tell Kiyomi in a text message, because I don't want to hear anyone else's voice today. Writing about myself is more difficult and time-consuming than I'd thought. I'm very sorry, pass on my apologies. Some other time. I'll stay here until I'm done and I'll call in to see her tomorrow at lunch. She doesn't question me, but her reply gives off the feeling that she's disappointed and maybe more than a little suspicious. I don't find that I can care about her. This day has been practically perfect in how uneventful it has been: the ease of it passing, the lack of thoughts in my head and the general contentedness. Just the blandness of it all is peace to me. L and I have the permanent half-smiles of idiots and glory in the gentle brushing touches as we pass each other, just for the sake of it, like we're reminding ourselves that we're really there. I want to think that every day could be like this. I'll live my life in days like today, but I know that somewhere, repressed, is the knowledge that tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow, I will do things. Tomorrow, I will be robotic in my efficiency, and that might be what makes me happy now; the knowledge that it's not going to last.

The sun sets and L leaves for a late rush for supplies, which turns out to include a bunch of flowers. I'm slightly worried, but he explains that it's for his secretary at the firm. He normally gets her to do these sort of things, but obviously she can't buy her own flowers, so she gets a sad looking bunch from a service station. I laugh at this - what I see as a weakness and a concession to good manners which he normally ignores and scoffs at, but I think that he did it because of genuine feeling. This tenderness towards an employee and someone he pretends to dislike and put up with is funny and he's embarrassed. He says that these flowers are too shit to give to anyone, since they're garish with dyed colouring which has been greedily sucked up into an assault of fake beauty, but they'll be another reminder for him tomorrow morning to buy her some good ones from a florist and have them sent over to her. Before he left, he locked all the windows and bolted the back door. I heard the key turn in the front door and knew that I had been locked inside by him. He's more fearful than I am, because my life has been untouched. I've seen things happen to others and people have died around me, but the idea that I could find myself in a position where I could be harmed is ridiculous to me.

He left Stephen's illegal revolver on the table for me and didn't say anything about it because it explained itself. I tried to read a book but my eyes kept rising to look at the gun in front of me. It was so distracting that I could see the dull gleam on the barrel even when I was trying to focus on the book, so I put a cushion on top of it.

And when he's back from leaving the flowers propped in the kitchen sink, he picks the cushion up, revealing the gun, and smiles like I've been found out. I sag into the sofa as he picks up the black bolt of a thing and spins the chamber and every chamber of my heart, and points it at me. My mouth curves with mischief as he leans down to press the barrel under my chin and tilt it up towards him, firmly enough so that I feel a light suction of the gun on my damp skin. Then he kisses me, my eyes close and I lazily bite at his lip, while the gun presses into the hollow of my jaw. Then the pressure leaves – him and the gun have left me. His laugh is quiet but moves him like a cough would. The book is left open beside me before I follow him into the bedroom, like a stalking animal following weakened prey, turning the lights off as I leave rooms until the whole house in in darkness. I stand just a few steps inside of the bedroom so that my eyes adjust to the captivating ghost of him; the paleness, a silhouette inverted. Then I realise that this is an ambush. I'm not the predator. He is.

The t-shirt is slipped over his head and his belt coils into a sleeping cobra of leather on the floor. It's sort of enchanting to me and I walk closer slowly until he starts unbuttoning my shirt. I think of how I could graze the edge of my thumbnail in a certain place, and all the muscles in him would draw tight and he'd jolt towards me like I'm a bare, unearthed wire of electricity. I could do that, but I don't. I stand there watching his practiced undressing of me like I'm a mannequin in a shop window. A thought stabs me of how many other men he's done this to, and I'm jealous of every one of them. It's so effortless and not a fumbling tangle of irritation like I was used to with most men, so I can't ignore the others, his and mine, because they're omnipresent. Other men - all of them - had a desperate eagerness, like I might realise what a mistake I was making at any moment, so they'd better be quick. That I was so much better and too good for them. That I was lowering myself to their level because I must be an idiot. Their egos were not so diminished to think that I was doing it in exchange for a realisation of my expectations, because for me, this whole thing was never anything but a trade or a conciliation. No, it for easier for them to think that I was stupid, or easy, or drunk, or that they were just lucky. If there was another way, I would have avoided it. I always hated being clawed at, pulled at, mauled and drooled over. My eyes would roll back at their clumsy hands, but they didn't care. I always knew that once the door closed, I wouldn't be getting out without something being taken from me. I could have always scrapped with them, but they were usually burly and older and I knew that I would always come off worse if I decided to have a change of heart. I never did. When I make up my mind, I stick to it.

L's fingers dance over my hips like leaves across the pavement, and goosebumps rise on my skin. We press against each other until we're joined by a keystone of a hard kiss which takes the weight of us both. His hand loosens my shirt roughly and glides along my back, and suddenly I need to fuck him, because I can only take so much tenderness and affection before I have to ruin it. My hands are well ahead of me, already yanking at his loose jeans - this denim monstrosity which I wanted to disappear as soon as I saw him wearing them this morning. I wonder if he wore them to annoy me.

The rubbing and pressing is pointless without gnawing kisses. When I push him onto the bed, I hear his breath hitch as my hand feels where the rigid ribcage concaves suddenly into his unprotected stomach. I whisper kisses against it, telling him how much I love him, all of him, especially the imperfectness of him. I feel almost seasick by the feeling, and I lived all my life without it.

I pull at the bedside table drawer and he laughs at my hot impatience, the sudden hasty clunk and the rattling as my hand searches, but I kiss it away from him. When he laughs at me, it reminds me of the mirthless mocking he subjected me to months ago. He probably doesn't even remember it now, but it cored me like an apple. I just couldn't understand his cruelty, and that it comes so easily to him. That's on my mind as my fingers slot and sink into him, easing the coolness into a place of resistance so I can contrive a path for myself. My penis breezes against my palm as I force myself into him, and he holds my shoulders to keep himself steady. As if I could see it in in the darkness, because I want to see, I lean back to watch the tautness of me rock into him. Each hindered thrust squeezes the air from my lungs because he's gripping me so tightly, and it's a sustained and increasing high. It's pain and joy and everything I thought that he could be to me, and I tried to get away, I did. They make drugs that can do this, and you don't need someone else to be there with a living, breathing, steady rhythm. I think of how everything evolves with him and nothing's the same. Like now he's quiet and doesn't speak, just breathes in interrupting panting bursts. With Kiyomi, it's like I've put on a DVD of a film I've seen before and was never terribly interested in the first time around. It felt that way very quickly.

Biting my lip feels almost comparable to how my cock is enclosed in him; a sort of voluptuous, airless velvet wrapped around me, and when he comes, it's when I hit muscle. His spine arches as his fingers dig into my back, and then I'm rudderless and lost with no control. I yearn for it to return to me, but I think that perhaps this surging will never end. I'm radiant and deep in him, and only feel a far off stroking of my neck as he pulls a moan from me by doing absolutely nothing apart from lying there. In moments like this, I think of what a talent he is. How he could dismantle and destroy worlds with everything he has at his disposal and that no one else sees it but me. He must be special, he must be, because I don't admire anyone but him. There's no one who's comparable. Then I'm loose and fall against him, but still pulsing and breathing like I'm keeping time by a stopwatch. I don't look at him because I don't want to. I sink into the blackness of closed eyes on the rise and fall of his chest which slows me down, but I am thankful. Today I thought, maybe, maybe I could live like this and be grateful for it. Transfer all my life and longing into this and never regret it. His hands plunge slowly through my hair and I kiss his still stretched and sinewy chest as I roll onto my side.

"I found myself again with you," I whisper after a while, wanting to pull a sheet over my head as soon as I say it. The air is unbearably warm and heavy and only the mildest breeze brings any relief. He turns towards me, highlighted and shadowed and glistening.

"That happens. I tend to find myself with you all the time."

"That's not what I mean."

No, I never knew what I really wanted. There was everything and nothing in life before.

* * *

I don't know what time it is when I wake up, but it's almost as if someone has prodded me awake. It's still dark and I look at the shadows against the wall which seem to grow closer and larger the more I stare at them. But I focus on them, and as if I'm making it happen, the shadows seamlessly join and become solid right in front of me. It assumes a form which I can barely make out, but dips to sit on its haunches – at least that's what it seems to do. Panic rises inside me as I start to make out the pale, almost sky blue jutting chin, the massacre of a mouth with a graveyard of teeth beneath a mummified stub of a nose and the wide, gawking eyes. I can't move.

"It's happening," it says to me. I watch, hypnotised as his mouth forms the words and a gravelly, corrugated steel voice pushes them out.

"Wh... what are you?"

"Don't you remember me?"

"No, I... I've seen you, but -"

And it laughs at me, his mouth stretching until it's pulling like tight cotton. My hand reaches behind me, finds L's shoulder and squeezes it repeatedly, but he doesn't wake up and scream. He doesn't wake up at all. I think that he must be dead for a second until he turns over, which only makes the monster laugh all the more, arching back and holding himself for a full belly laugh.

"L!" I shout.

"Shhhh..." the monster hushes me, leaning back down to me suddenly, and in my shock, I push myself back against L. "This is just between us. Don't wake him. The truth will be the end of both of you if you're not careful."

"What do you mean? No, you're not real."

"You think that you're dreaming? Maybe you are. Who's to say?"

"You can't be real." I will myself to wake up. I pinch myself hard at my waist but hiss from the pain of it, and the demon is still there, I haven't woken up. Then I learn that I can't get out, I'm stuck here, and you _can_ feel pain in dreams. I wonder when the dream began. "Are you here to kill me?" I ask. He looks like Death, he's certainly not here to give me candy floss.

"Huh huh... Is that what you think? I don't understand you humans, but you're interesting to me. And what I know is that there are far worse fates than death for you. That's what happens."

"L, wake up!" I shout again, flinging my arm behind me, not caring where it hits him as long as it hits him and he wakes up, but the monster grips my jaw with spindly fingers which are freezing cold like ice, and he speaks right into my face. Even his breath, what might be breath, is cold and radiates from him.

"Convince yourself that I don't exist again, do it. It makes me laugh. You're dreaming, this isn't happening, it doesn't make sense, it doesn't fit with your laws of science. Do it, but everything depends on what you do now. I'm tied here, but I didn't choose you. Put that on your tab, Light Yagami."

I can't break away from him and my eyes stretch painfully in their wideness, like I couldn't possibly take in the whole horrifying picture of what I'm seeing. I know this face. Over the years it's come closer and closer to me, slowly encircling me. And now I'm going to die here, killed by a vacancy of soul.

Somehow, I tear my fixed stare away from the glowing bright tapestry around the blood red centre of his eyes, and see something like a peeling of the skin near a silver heart earring which catches the light. Instinctively, I reach for it, hoping to do damage to this thing, and rip it with all the force I can muster. It tears like thick paper, leaving ragged edges across his cheek, and underneath I see skin with colour, unlike the surface layer. Skin like mine but pulled by tight, thick stitches and patched to bruised, decomposing flesh, like violet satin. The thing doesn't flinch, there's no blood; it's like he's wearing a thin mask. I look back into the now furious but laughing eyes and feel a punch which seems to hit every part of me - a split-second crunch, a coldness and a sudden stillness within. The force of it rocks me back, but I don't take my eyes from his. When I finally do look down, his arm disappears into my chest, and around it, a aurora borealis of waving colour and light circles like a whirlpool. He pulls his arm from me, pulling me forward towards him until he's free in one quick movement, and I fall back again, how I was. I feel the cavernous hole in my chest without having to look at it. I'm not breathing, and I'm not sure if it's because of shock or because I physically can't anymore. The last thing I see is a black clad hand, like a vicious tree branch, holding my own shining heart out to me.

* * *

Despite waking, intact and breathing and with my heart still thumping excitedly inside me, I can't believe that it's real. Before reason points me towards reality, I sit there in bed with the light of morning just breaking through the blinds and L still asleep beside me, exactly how he was in my dream. My hand presses into my chest to find it solid and apparently undamaged, and I think for a moment that he must have stolen my heart and replaced it. Something else is beating inside me. I stare at the white sheet over my legs and see nothing but the quilt of rotten and living skin in my mind's eye. I visualise a shard of black hair and the demonic face of an African mask of the dead.

L's alarm clock beeps suddenly and I glare at it over his shoulder until he reaches over to silence it. He rolls on his back and smiles broadly towards me, all white teeth in a reawakened face while he rubs his eyes, but in his fogginess, he hardly looks at me. He mustn't see my horror which I'm sure must still remain imprinted on me, and he mustn't think that my silence is strange. He just flings himself heavily onto my thigh and holds me like a pillow, pressing his forehead against my hip.

I touch his hair. I feel him. I'm not dead.

* * *

After L drops me off in front of the the Kantei and disappears to park and go to work himself, I collect memos and letters from my secretary, skimming over them while she rattles off more messages and reminds me of my schedule today. I nod but say nothing, and for the first time ever, she asks me if I'm feeling alright. Looking at her for what seems like such a bizarre and unusual question, I catch sight of myself in my office's closed, dark door like a scrying mirror of obsidian. I look as shit as I can ever remember looking. It shocks me to see myself looking like this; haunted somehow. The look of a dying man or a man who's seen something he should never have seen. I hate that my dream has left a scar of itself on my face as well as my mind, and when I'm in my office, I wash and scrub my face unforgivingly to try and bring some life back into it. I order my secretary to bring me a plate of salad just so I can put the slices of cucumber on my eyes, but that doesn't work, so I order espresso and soak cotton pads in the coffee to shrink the blood vessels and reduce swelling. This I have learned. I find myself feeling so depressed by the lack of improvement that I consider taking the day off work to sleep it off, but by one o'clock, I look normal again. The memories fade.

At six o'clock and after a one minute conversation with L, I leave the office, with my head still ringing from a gaggle of secretaries starting the weekend early by the water cooler. Until they noticed me standing behind them waiting to get near the stairwell door which they were blocking, they were practically screaming like witches. They shut up and dispersed quickly enough, but I know their faces and every one of their names, and that's all I need to know. I'll see how I feel about it tomorrow.

I go from one hoard of women to another, as what sounds like collared doves soothing each other batters me as soon as I walk through my front door. Even the maid looks embarrassed, but she usually does anyway. In between the cooing, the familiar snivelling of Sayu breaks through in punctuated, spiking sobs. When we were both still living at home, we came to some unspoken agreement. I could either be a tutor or an overprotective big brother who beat up boys for her if she was stupid enough to sleep with them, after which they would of course fuck off and delete her number from their phones. One role was easier than the other, so I became her tutor and my mother handled her emotional fuck ups. Meanwhile, I tutored myself, more or less, achieved excellent grades despite being considerably more intelligent than my teachers, and I had no emotional fuck ups. I think my mother and father should have stopped at one child. I liked Sayu when I was younger - loved her, maybe - but when I started to appreciate intelligence and poise and she showed no interest in either or those qualities or in common sense, I lost interest in her. She wasn't academic and I got her through school. That was the end of my obligtion.

"So that's it. No more men for me," I hear Sayu say as I take off my shoes and hand them to the maid.

"God, Sayu, how horrible. Please don't say that." Is that Naomi? What is she doing here?

"Women can have very happy lives without men," Kiyomi says assuredly, although from what I gather, she's hardly ever had a period in her life in which she's experienced not having a man running after her in some way. "You can go where you want, do what you want."

"Have a bed all to yourself."

"Yes! I love Light and I'd miss him terribly, especially his bad moods in the mor... all the time, but I do like that we have our own rooms."

"Teru steals the sheets."

"Oh, I hate that!"

"Does Light?" Sayu asks.

"No, he lets me have them."

"Awww."

"And then he leaves."

"Oh."

"It's perfect."

"Well, I'm glad for you, Kiyomi, but I'm going to have a great life without men. I can take up self improvement, like Light always told me to. Embroidery and quilt making and flower arranging, and I'll read that book that I was supposed to read at school but Light wrote the essay for me, so I didn't have to read it in the end. And maybe I'll take up pottery and buy a few cats and..."

At this point, Sayu descends into wailing and choked out weeping, which brings out much hushing from Kiyomi and Naomi. I'm surprised that Kira doesn't join in. I couldn't really blame him if he did.

As I walk past the sitting room, which is more like a ballroom with chairs, Kiyomi must hear my footsteps. I'm not planning on staying long.

"Light, is that you?"

"I'm just picking up some things."

"Come in here. Your sister's upset."

Although I see that as a perfectly good reason not to go in there, I drag myself into the room, and the acrid smell of the freshly painted walls burns the back of my throat. Kiyomi is in a white skirt suit (it's too bland to know the designer at sight. There's no obvious signature design traits, but I think that it's Anrealage, which would the best political choice) and blends in with the furnishings and the walls. A rhapsody in white with a red slash of a mouth. I want her to be painted like that in our official portrait. No, I don't. There won't be one. Sayu's hair is scraped back and she looks like she's fourteen and has had a bad time on the pommel horse in P.E. Naomi is all long hair and a Mary Katrantzou dress which looks like a short and over the top Ming vase. I think she's had highlights and treatments. You can always rely on Naomi.

"What's wrong, Sayu?" I ask, and she immediately tears up and launches herself towards me. I feel like I'm a man on the train tracks who's unable to move as my doom comes right at me at five miles per hour. I stand there, exhausted, with my arms hanging at my sides while Sayu cries all over my jacket.

"Oh, poor Sayu," Kiyomi clucks, somewhat falsely. "Sayu's had an argument with Touta," she tells me, then pours herself and Naomi another cup of tea. Despite making the right noises, they appear to be decidedly unconcerned about Sayu's trouble.

"Why?"

"He's mean," Sayu says, brokenly muffled into my shoulder. I push her back out of affection for my jacket.

"No he isn't. You are."

"What?"

"You treat him like shit."

"Light, you're not helping," Kiyomi calls over.

"Where's Kira?" I ask her.

"He's at my mother's." Oh, no fucking way.

"You left _my_ son with ___your _mother? Kiyomi, she couldn't even look after that orchid we gave her for New Year, and you expect our son to still be alive when you can be bothered to pick him up?"

"He's fine. I'm picking him up at four."

"It's half past fucking six, woman! I hope to God that he's survived this long. Sayu, you should go home and apologise to Touta."

"What? I should apologise to _him_?!"

"Akane's with them anyway, there's no need to shout at me. Especially since I've been comforting your sister when she's very upset," Kiyomi interjects. I thought that was finished. "Are you going out again?"

"Yes, I'm just having a shower first."

"Light's writing a book," Kiyomi explains to her audience smugly.

"Oh! That's wonderful, Light," Naomi says, clasping her hands together in all her excitement. I nod and start to leave.

"Maybe you'll be in it, along with all his other bits on the side," Kiyomi tells her. I spin back around but she's the picture of calm still. "Sugar, Sayu?"

"Kiyomi!" Naomi shrieks.

"Naomi is Light's bit on the side?!" Sayu asks, looking at me like the truth will make itself known and I'll give myself away by dropping a packet of 'extended pleasure' condoms and a diamond tennis bracelet, inscribed 'To Naomi, with love'. They all seem to wait for me to reply, apart from Kiyomi, who's still pouring tea. Naomi looks at me, begging me to deny it. As it is, I can't speak, so she takes it upon herself.

"No!"

"She was," Kiyomi says. "She probably still is."

"Shut up, Kiyomi," I tell her, finally finding my voice just as I leave the room. A few seconds later, I hear the hard click of Kiyomi's heels as she follows me and the clopping of Naomi and Sayu behind her.

"No I won't. So you're off again? Who are you seeing this time?"

"No one. Don't be stupid," I answer, taking my jacket off. I walk into my wardrobe and scan the rails quickly, picking out leather Calvin Klein suit. It speaks to me. Well, the jacket does. I bought the full suit for the sake of completeness, but I never intend to wear the trousers. It was a spur of the moment purchase a few years ago because I wanted it, irrespective of how inappropriate it would be. I was feeling reckless and had just had a healthy bonus from my investment into Higuchi. It's inappropriate now because it screams 'I'm going out to have sex, thank you!' but that's probably why I subconsciously pick it out. Kiyomi hovers in the doorway while I select trousers, a shirt and tie, and stays standing there as I walk past her to lay the outfit on the bed until it looks like the invisible man has been squashed by an invisible anvil.

"Light, are you having an affair?" Sayu asks in exactly the same tone she used when she asked me anything from about twelve onwards, when she developed a fascination with my sex life or lack of. She was constantly incredulous. 'Are you eating those? You'll get fat and no one will won't to go out with you.' 'You have a girlfriend? Have you had sex yet?' 'You got an A? How did you do that? The girls will think that you're a nerd.' 'Dad bought you that watch? How much did it cost? The girls will love that.' My youth was very disturbed and fraught with screaming teenage girls in my ear. Needless to say, I moved out as soon as it was financially viable.

"Get out of my room, Sayu."

"Kiyomi. Light and I are not having an affair," Naomi says definitively.

"Oh, come on. You both told me that you were and you're still all over him."

"No I'm not!"

"Fuck!" I shout, suddenly rigid with having my peace disturbed and Kiyomi making arguments now. That's L's job. "Have a mother's meeting somewhere else, will you? I'm having a shower now."

"We've all seen you naked, Light. Carry on."

"I haven't seen him naked since we were..." Sayu ponders. "I don't think that I ever did."

"There's always a first time, Sayu. Believe me, you haven't missed much."

"You," I point at Kiyomi. "Go and get my son."

"Our son. My son, actually. You didn't really contribute."

"I contributed half his genes and his gender and his actual existence, you're talking complete shit. Who are you, the Virgin fucking Mary?"

"Light!" Sayu gasps. Oh God, help me.

"_And_ I wanted a girl," Kiyomi continues unabashed. "You knew it, and you couldn't even give me that much."

"What? Oh, forget it."

"And I carried him for months!" she shouts, following me into the bathroom.

"A greenhouse could have done a better job."

Her pause makes me watch her while I'm unbuttoning my shirt. She reluctantly seems to look me over and inhale. "Well, why are you worried about our child when you probably have a few spares all over Tokyo?"

"I am _not _having an affair."

"Yes you are!"

Her face is no longer serene and aristocratic as I've always known it; it's red and bellowing with fury. She's moments from crying. It's then that I realise that I can't win this one, not with Naomi and Sayu standing there, so I forget about the shower. I take off my shirt, throw my old one on the floor, and march back into the bedroom to replace it with another.

"I'm not talking to you when you're like this," I grumble, buttoning up my new shirt rather haphazardly.

"I don't see you, so when should we talk?"

"Can we not do this in front of Naomi and Sayu?" I ask her, then point behind her at a face at the door. "And yes, you! I see you there. You're fired! One month's fucking notice!" I shout as the bastard stands there like an idiot whose forgotten his lines. Fucking butlers. "And don't think of saying anything to anyone because you signed a confidentiality agreement and I will have your _balls _with my fucking sashimi and give your dick to my son as a pacifier if you breathe a word!"

"Well?" Kiyomi asks him. "What are you waiting for? Go! He'll have your balls and I'll have everything else if you talk. I'll phone your wife and tell her all about you and Akane."

That does it. He backs off, bowing manically as he runs away backwards.

"Bastard," I hiss under my breath.

"I know..." she says sympathetically. I'd almost forgotten in this short time what her voice sounded like normally; deep and melancholy. I always liked the light and cheerful 'telephone voice' she puts on in public and for outsiders which makes her sound as if she'd never had an imperfect moment in her life, because I knew how false it was, and I like it, because she doesn't use it with me and she never did. Naomi and Sayu stare at us in shock, I think. It's hard to say. They have such pretty but vague faces and often look as gormless as they do now. You have to rely on more obvious emotions from them, such as crying or laughing. "Are you still leaving?" Kiyomi asks me, picking up my discarded shirt from the floor.

"I have to. I've made arrangements now. Look, will you two get out?" I shout again at Naomi and Sayu, but they don't move.

"What arrangements? I thought you were supposed to be writing a book."

"I am, but I've told L that I'll be there."

"Tell him that you've changed your mind. He won't care. He doesn't even use that place, Stephen said."

"'Stephen said,'" I repeat after her in a chirpy imitation. "Kiyomi, when I make arrangements, I stick to them."

"I want to talk to you."

"We're talking now, in front of the whole fucking building. You're holding me up."

"Well, I'm sorry. I'll pack your condoms."

"I've heard enough. This is horrible!" Sayu says, starting to tear up again. "You two are always rubbing it in. You know that I'm practically a nun now!"

"Sayu, if you go home – and please go home – you can say sorry to Touta and stop being stupid so you can go right back to how you were this morning instead of crying all over me and my floor."

"I'm not apologising. Why are you always supporting the underdog? You're a politician!"

"He's supporting him because he's a man, Sayu," Kiyomi tells her. "Men stick together."

"You're such a sexist fucking bitch, Kiyomi," I snap at her.

"Tell you what then, you come back to me when you're underpaid and disrespected and everything is unequal and unfair because of your gender. Oh wait, you can't, because you're a man! How nice for you!"

"I can't be arsed with your shit now. Can you all just get out? I only want to have a shower."

"And see your girlfriend. What does she look like?"

"Tall. Dark hair. Thin," I tell her after moment, taking care to say each word clearly, forcing the admittance out. My blood burns with adrenalin because I've just killed myself. The room is silent then, and Kiyomi's eyes widen like she never did really believe it at all.

"You sizeist..." she gasps, but doesn't finish because she's too busy beating my chest with her fists until I grab her wrists and spin her around into some kind of restraining hold. She stabs her heel into my foot, which causes me such unexpected pain that I immediately let her go to rub at the spot just above my big toe.

"Light! Oh my God, Dad's going to be pissed!" Sayu tells me as Kiyomi thumps me hard on my shoulders while I'm bent over, attending to my foot. That actually brought tears to my eyes, the bitch.

"Fuck off, Sayu!" I shout, looking up at her. I feel that my face is hot and probably red like Kiyomi's and that really annoys me. I see Sayu's lip tremble before she explodes.

"I think you're horrible, Light! Horrible!" she screams hysterically. She mercifully leaves the room before she drips on my carpet. This was The Lady's suite and I had the carpet restored instead of replaced. I kept the whole more or less the same, just updated. When I first moved in, I imagined her climbing onto her poor husband like a succubus to drain the life and semen from him once a year. Kiyomi ended up being similar.

My foot is throbbing, but the searing pain has subsided enough that I can grab my jacket from the bed and storm out in a slightly hobbling and uncomfortable way past Naomi and of the room.

"What about your shower?" Kiyomi shouts after me from the stairs when I reach the door and snatch my shoes from the maid. I catch a glimpse of Kiyomi's legs and the hem of her white skirt from the corner of my eye, but I slam the door after me without answering.

* * *

Forty minutes later, despite the traffic, I draw up at L's house and open his door with my own key which he gave me in a fit of romance. I look barely presentable. My trousers don't match my shirt and jacket, being charcoal grey, so I feel like a badly-made bed. My car makes a sound like a horse breathing behind me, which makes me jump and quickly close the front door.

I think of this place as peace and terror combined now. After dropping my keys on the console table, I listen to the house, trying to gauge what's here apart from L, if anything. His car is parked outside, so he must be here somewhere. No, nothing else is here. I see things. I have dreams which I can't wake up from. After taking my shoes and socks off to inspect the angry wound on my foot, it looks worse than it did at first. Now it almost looks like a bullet has been fired at me through kevlar. All the way here, I was in a state of unreleased anger and embarrassment and regret, but now that I'm here, I close my eyes, straighten and let my head drop back while I push my hair off my face. My breathing calms, my heart rate drops, and then I feel a cold circular rim press against my cheek.

"Shit fuck!"

An arm holds me in place to stop me flailing and hitting out, and a mouth kisses my ear, but all I can do is stare straight ahead of me with that same feeling of hopelessness and inevitability that I did last night when the demon stole my heart from me. When death was right there and I couldn't escape it.

"This is a burglary," he whispers to me, and I breathe out in relief, turning my face to my left to see a brandished gun for my benefit.

"That's strange, because it looks a lot like a gun."

"With five bullets in it. I was messing around and accidentally shot a lamp."

He lazily lifts the gun towards a small table which carries nothing now apart from a disembodied lampshade. I sigh and step away from him to stick a cigarette into my mouth, but hear a tiny noise from the bedroom and my head snaps towards it in panic, like a worried meerkat. I must look ridiculous and a bag of nerves. Then the wheel of my lighter burns my finger and when I do manage to light my cigarette, I light the filter end. Could anything else go wrong?

"It's the central heating switching on, calm down," he tells me while polishing the gun on his sleeve. With one eye closed, he raises it, clasping it with both hands, and aims it at me. I step out of his aim, but the gun follows me with the help of a steady arm, thanks to a man in a suit.

"I'm not in the mood, L."

"I was going to burgle you but you've ruined the moment, as usual," he says sulkily, eventually dropping the gun to hang at his thigh when I fall onto the sofa and breathe out before I speak.

"Shouldn't you give that thing back to Bucky O'Hare?"

"He hasn't asked for it," he shrugs innocently. "Oh dear, this is bad. What could I do to help? Hmmm... I know!"

Nothing could surprise me now. For a second, I think that he's just going to shoot me, because that would solve my problems better than anything else could, but he walks over to me and crouches between my knees, spreading my legs open. Part of my brain is thinking: 'Yes! Great idea,' but the part of my brain which is not attached to my dick makes me put a blocking arm in front of me, much to his amazement.

"I'm running out of ideas now," he says.

"You've only had one."

"It usually works. Is this leather?" he asks, thumbing my lapel like a stress stone. "You're wearing leather? Light, your personality is leaking and it's made your jacket become leather. Hey, what happened to your foot?"

"Kiyomi."

"She did that? What a bitch! Are you sure? It looks like stigmata. Have you been crucified lately?"

"She accused me of having an affair... with just about everyone, I think," I sigh, letting my head fall down to be caught and propped up by my hands just above my knees

"Oh."

"I don't know if she really thinks that."

"Probably. Although, from what I've heard, unless you're giving them attention all the hours of the day, that's a standard thing that women say. What happened?"

"She just..." I wave a hand in the air to represent the bomb explosion which happened this afternoon. "I know what I could try to make her quiet, but I don't think it'll work on her."

"Well, this is perfect," he says. What the fuck?

"In what way?"

"Let's think." He climbs onto the sofa and lies back like he's ready for his therapy session. As he speaks, he gains momentum from the growing love of his idea, and picks at the skin around his fingernails while he stares at the door like he's seen the fucking future and it's beautiful. "You were going to ask her for a divorce. Men who ask for divorces always gets the same reaction: 'He's having an affair. He's a bastard. He's got a younger model because men are sex-obsessed arseholes. His wife is so lovely,' even if that's not true. The woman always gets the sympathy unless they leave their husband for someone else, because then they're a slutty bitch. Who'd leave you? I think that we should push her towards doing just that."

"She's not having an affair, L. She _wouldn't_ have an affair, so let's not push her anywhere."

"Maybe towards the edge of a cliff then? I'm joking, I'm joking, but hold your horses there, sport. This could be perfect because you have a new baby and you're in a very stressful position. If Kiyomi has an affair, that would be perfect. What you need to do is encourage her privately by being absent a lot of the time, immersed in your work and me, but act like a slightly friendly acquaintance to her with absolutely no sex drive. A bit like how you are already, but more so. Invite some lotharios over for dinner, like Culture, and then leave them for half-an-hour. Stir and repeat, stir and repeat. Microwave. Bing! But, when it's made public, be shocked. Take the day off work and make sure the press know about it. Go on TV and _say_ how shocked you are. Sad face. Devastation. You thought you were happy, but you're trying to be understanding of her and hopefully you can work it out for Kira's sake. You just feel so betrayed at the moment. You've been there before with that Amane person fucking Jeevas of all people."

"Yes, and I'm not going there again. You can only do it once, after that it looks like there's a reason people keep having affairs."

"Not necessarily. Having a baby and being the Prime Minister's wife must be very stressful for her, that's what you'll say, but you'll be understandably very upset. Play that card into the ground."

"But -"

"Shut up. You're depressed. Suicidal even. You're going to be very depressed and exhausted and I'll get my doctor to give you a nice form which says that you are, with a suggestion that you take time off work."

"No. Absolutely fucking not."

"Yes. So you hold a very emotional press conference and state your intention to leave, and then you move in with me. I'm your friend and this house is very isolated and sanctuary-like. Move along, nothing to see here. _But_, you're bonkers and I'm an attractive lawyer with a mean streak and his own firm, a good brain, gay, gay, gay, AND anything could happen. I've turned men like other people turn corners. Your cabinet will be in uproar because who's going to replace you in the mean time at such short notice? Watari? Yes, because he's your deputy, but he'll be awful, and that's exactly why he's perfect for the job. It won't take long before you'll have to promise at the insistence of your cabinet that you'll come back once you're recovered. However, in that time, you'll have unexpectedly fallen in love with me, because I'm a bad man and took advantage of your vulnerability and – the horror – people can be attracted to the same sex or both sexes and it doesn't define them. The cabinet will have sympathy for you. You must be very confused, and they won't accept it immediately, but with Watari standing in for you and the opposition gaining popularity, they'll realise what a great leader you are. The only one. Having me down your trousers is irrelevant. They might not like that you're fucking a man but you're really good at your job, so they'll just have to deal with that. Your party will see that without you, they'll be kicked out. I'll leave PR so that I'm out of the picture, and with me not in everyone's faces, they can ignore the imagery they have of us at night. They'll make themselves believe that we're just friends or forget about me altogether. We all love a sense of the absurd. This will actually change everything and it'll work out pretty well for us too. Give it a few months, maybe a year. Then come back. Are you listening?"

No, not really. I switched off when I starting imagining the tagline for my next election campaign being: 'Men at work. Having him down my trousers is irrelevant. I'm fucking a man, but I'm really good at my job, so you'll just have to deal with that. Vote for the Absurd Party!' But L's staring at me, eager for my imput, so I cross my arms.

"Light, did you hear what I said?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"It's a terrible idea."

"I really don't mind taking the blame."

"It's not that. It won't work. They won't keep the job open for me. The opposition will fight that and call for another election, and people will think that I'm impressionable, sexually deviant and mentally unstable."

"But a good man and a good Prime Minister. I'll arrange some kind of crisis which Watari will struggle to deal with. I can do that without even being in PR. I'll make life hell for him. He might even die from the stress. You'll be called to help resolve the problem, and you ___will_, even though you're not well and, y'know, having sex with me. You'll sort everything out practically overnight. Think of how that kind of dedication will look."

"No, it's terrible. I need a drink," I say, taking my time in sitting up and preparing to walk. It feels likes someone's driven a nail through my foot, which is what Kiyomi effectively did.

"Have mine," he tells me, crawling and shuffling onto me, clamping me with his rucked fabric covered thighs and handing me his vodka with a giving and lopsided smile. His voice has a warm purr running through it, and one hand strokes dreamy, slippery, rushing noises from my leather jacket. Surely he doesn't think that I'm that stupid. "You just need to think about it. I'm shooting ideas at you and you can take or leave what you want, but with good steering and a few tweaks, this could be perfect. We all like having our cake and being able to eat it. That's not an innuendo, by the way. Unless you want it to be."

"This isn't a fucking cake though, L. This is my life and my job."

I'm exhausted by what feels like a battle of wills in who wants their own way the most. Honestly, I'd prefer a straight forward punch-up which ends with a fuck on the floor, but we both twine each other around our fingers through more devious means. It's just that I'm so tired that I feel that there's a danger of me letting him win. His eyes almost close as he smiles and his hand runs through my hair and down my neck, tracing along a rib, poising over backwaters, swirling and spreading his fingers to the curve of my back. Hairs stand on end. All this time, I watch him like an idiot, knowing exactly what he's doing because I've done it myself. I've done this to him. Now, I want to ruin him. Commit arson and vandalism on this man who makes himself look so fragile and fine and sleek and intended for only the most gentle of lovers. I want to tear his skin with my teeth and claws.

He hunches forward to glide his lips across mine as he gives me what I'd hardly believe was an order from the way it's whispered so beautifully: the death sentence to Kiyomi's life as she knows it unless I stop him.

"The only thing is how to get rid of Kiyomi in the right way, and then there's just public opinion about your... well, this, which you can change with very little effort on your part. The trick is to have a slow drip and control it. It's not a lifestyle choice, it's who you are. You've done the job well so far, why would you stop now? Think of how progressive this is. And most of this is press related. Just be very reserved. Don't start wearing pink and going on marches and kissing men in public who aren't me, and then they'll realise that you haven't changed one iota. Aren't you lucky to have me?"

"L..."

"I'd feel very guilty for taking such a great politician away from the people," he says, suddenly rocking back until my breathing stops at the tormenting glance of him over my rising cock. "What would be the absolutely perfect scenario for you is if you could go back and everyone would overlook your bad choice in partner. Bad, bad..."

"I thought you wanted me to stay here and give up politics."

"You don't want to leave it, Light. You love it."

"Do I?"

"Imagine what it'd be like for you to see all the wrong things going unchecked and not being able to do anything about it, but knowing that you could."

"I'm not going to be humiliated."

"If we play this right then you won't be."

"I will. My marriage is falling apart and we've only been married a year," I say sadly, which is all too obvious. I failed at something I didn't really care about in the first place, but Kiyomi was there when L wasn't. She distracted me. She was always there for me when I needed her and not there when I didn't want her to be. She gave me an alternative to believe was something important to me, even if it wasn't. On paper it was. I'm grateful to her for that. I'm sorry that she didn't own all the things she thought were hers and that she knows that now. In my mind, I see her legs, a white skirt and blood tipped white heels, and that image makes me push L off me and scratch under my ear roughly. "After I resign, it'll look like she left me because of you."

"So you're alright with it as long as you do the leaving? I'm the problem?" he asks me. Yes, you're the problem.

"She thinks that I'm sleeping with some woman. She blamed Naomi."

"Well, you did sleep with Naomi."

"Years ago, God! I slept with a lot of people years ago. Now I think that she blames my secretary, judging by the way she speaks to her. That's just what I need – an adultery charge with a hundred co-respondents."

"It's not going to come to that. There'll be no charges of adultery. It could be your standard breakdown in a relationship. Irreconcilable differences, it happens all the time. You rushed, really. That would fly. You didn't give yourself an opportunity to test drive. You have options. File the divorce papers before her, or make her believe that you're innocent and she'll back off, but personally, I think it would be better for everyone if you let her get on with it. Everyone loves a rogue in politics and an affair with a woman could be forgiven. But you're having an affair with a man and they'll think that there's something wrong with you, so we have to handle this perfectly."

"Have a sex change," I laugh. I don't know how.

"Hah. I love you a lot but I'm not cutting my dick off for you, I like it too much. It's brought me a lot of happiness over the years and I like to piss standing up. Light, you and Kiyomi need to separate and you have to have a complete mental breakdown."

I turn to him. He's serious.

"Errr..."

"For all the world, look like you were happy with Kiyomi, but when you come back and people know about me, show them that it has no bearing on you, and comment on how that bigotry reflects on society. What we need to do soon is let some stories slip out about how Kiyomi isn't the most maternal woman. Maybe a piece on how she's always bundling Kira off onto relatives alongside a photo of her shopping with an insinuation that she's having an affair with one of your security guards. You have to start collecting Kira when you leave work. You need sympathy and Kiyomi needs bad press. She will have the press and public hatred which is only reserved for women who do wrong. We need that sort of -"

"L, it won't work. I won't be able to go back to politics after this."

"Not with me in tow, you mean."

"I'm sorry, but that's how it is."

"You can change things."

"I can't change how people think."

"People need to be told what to think, that's what you've always said. You're a very popular man now, why would that change if we handle this correctly? I'll get the press behind you and we'll get your cabinet behind you. Haven't you listened to anything I've said? Because it's twenty-four carat gold, Light.

"My goal isn't equality. There are more important things."

"Oh, Light. You've got this all wrong."

"L, If I did what you said, it wouldn't be for equality, it'd be because I want you and I want my job."

"That's ok."

"No, it's not. There are people living in poverty and getting killed out there. I can't care about a one man battle for equality."

"Do it for us then."

"I am. That's why I'm leaving. You don't understand." I rub my forehead and L shifts closer to me in agitation.

"Make me understand."

"You care about equality in how it affects you, not because you care about anyone else. And those aren't good reasons."

"I'm sorry that I'm not selfless but I never have been. I care about me and I care about you and I stop caring after that."

"I know. And I'm going the same way, so I have to leave."

"Light, you care about other things."

"I hate things which are wrong, but all I love is you and that's where I should go."

"Is this to guilt trip me into backing off so you can carry on with this once every so often thing? Because I can't, Light."

"No! It's not to make you do anything. It's what I'm doing, because it's the right thing to do. I can't help it if the result is that I have no option but to leave, but I have to be realistic. No one else should suffer to make it easier for me, especially when it won't make any difference anyway. It is what it is. You know politics, L. It's a bit backward with things like this."

He searches my eyes for a moment, desperately trying to disbelieve what I'm saying, but not being able to. He slams the flat of his hand against the seat of the sofa as he stands up and begins to slowly pace in front of me. Well, that was attractive.

"This is so fucking shit," he says angrily.

"You're telling me," I laugh, or try to anyway. It comes to nothing, I feel as battered as I did before and L's still pacing and biting his thumbnail.

"You're trying to do the right thing and you're going to lose your job over it."

"Yeah, well. Maybe if I'd done the right thing earlier, it wouldn't be like this now."

"The one time you're honest and do the right thing."

"Mmm... Hold on. What?!"

"Sorry."

"I've been honest and done the right thing before! Lots of times!"

"I said that I was sorry."

I make a low sort of grumbling noise as I settle back from my momentary outrage, but he's still pacing. "When this is over, it won't be so bad," I sigh with my fake optimism. "I've got my degree, I could do law."

"An ex-Prime Minister as a lawyer, yeah. We might as well set up a theme park and charge a hundred yen for people to have their photographs taken with you."

"You were the one who suggested it!"

"Because I would have said anything to make you follow through on leaving. But you won't be happy. No law firm will hire you for anything other than for publicity, apart from mine. Tell me that you would be happy working for me, having me tell you what to do and how to do it."

"You're kind of doing that now..." I tell him, but I know what he means. It'll be different. He'll be the authority to me. "No," I sigh in resignation.

"No, you wouldn't."

"I know that it will always follow me around, but..."

"Light, you won't be happy. Everything you do is going to be a step down for you."

"Who knows what could happen. So, that's where I am, and it's no one's fault but mine."

"No, you did what you did to fit in with what was expected of you."

"I didn't have to do it."

"You were made to feel like you had to. And I could have made it easier," he says, finally finding a destination for his wanderings, and that destination is the vodka bottle and a fresh tumbler. He chucks ice into the glass, only because it's another humid night, and the vodka spills over the cubes as he focuses on haste.

"How?"

"By not being such a twat? I know what people think of me, but I never cared. I thought that it was funny how they all think that I'm some mad man who's going to fuck them if they turn their backs on me or dropped something. I played right into their hands, didn't I? If I was quiet and respectable and fucking celibate, maybe it wouldn't have been a problem at all. I don't know."

"Don't drink any more. Come here," I tell him. I'm so tired that I want only to talk about anything else or nothing at all. Just to fold myself around him like paper around a stone and be fucked in the silence on the darkest of nights when all the stars are clearly seen. Us rocking supine and gently like a ship on an dead calm sea and falling asleep, twisted around each other so nothing would dare to disturb that. I'd wake in the morning and love him more than I did the last time I saw him, for not saying or doing anything apart from what comes naturally to him.

He puts down his glass and sits next to me again, sad, like a tortured French artist painting beautiful things from his mind while living in a dark, underwater slum of a place. I laugh a little to myself while he mopes in ridiculousness.

"Will you not blame yourself, please," I say.

"I don't blame myself."

"Liar." I hold his knee as I lean back into the sofa. "So, I'm staying here tonight. You'll have to feed me again."

"Does Kiyomi know where you are?"

"I told her that I was writing, but she thinks that's just a ruse and that I'm using you as a cover, that's the impression I got. Then I left and security were tailing me, so I lost them on the motorway."

"They probably know where you are."

"Doesn't matter if they do. There's a good thing - I won't have security around anymore after I leave."

"You _will _need security."

"When homophobes attack?"

"Is that a film?"

"I know that there are some crazy people about. I wonder if I'll look back and think that it was worth it. Politics, I mean. It doesn't really feel like it right now."

"It was worth it."

"Tell me that I'm doing the right thing"

"No, you're not."

"I asked you to tell me that I was."

"Like you need me to? You never did before. Honesty is the best policy, and I don't think that you are doing the right thing. Morally, you're doing the right thing, but you have a way to stay in power and you won't fight for it."

"I'm not going to lie down and let them kick me. I'm going act normally, leave Kiyomi, resign, and leave the door open. Like you said, I'm the best person for the job and they might ask me back when they realise that."

"You don't really think that, do you," he asks me. I take a long time to reply.

"No."

* * *

I'm walking with Mikami down the corridors in the maze of the backwaters of the House when we see L skulk out of the ladies bathroom followed by a bleached to fuck, fake tanned woman in her forties. I thought that one thing I could trust him with is that he wouldn't go around fucking women in bathrooms. Mikami laughs to himself and makes his excuses, because obviously nothing L did would surprise him now. He leaves me in the hallway watching and listening to L have a conflab with some disgrace of a woman. I feel like I must be having another dream again.

"I got nothing from that," he tells her. Her shoulders fall.

"I know. I could tell."

"I'm sorry. I'd say that it's not you, it's me, but it's definitely you. I'm in perfect working order as of three hours ago. It's not your fault that I find you supremely unattractive. If I was that way inclined, I would definitely hire you though. I'm sure that you're very talented."

"I could put on a suit," she offers. Worlds have collided. I'm having some kind of psychotic moment.

"No. Even then, I don't think that my imagination would stretch that far. You're a dear though. Any other news?"

"Police came sniffing around last week. Disrupted business."

"Let's see if I can fix that so you aren't troubled again. Oh, Prime Minister!" he smiles as I approach them.

"Prime Minister, is it?" the woman asks, flustered and awkward. She actually curtseys to me, the thick plank.

"No need for that," L tells her. "We're on his side. Now, what were you saying about Hoshido? It's ok, you can say in front of the right honourable gentleman."

"Likes to be whipped," she answers.

"How apt for a chief whip."

"By blondes in World War II uniforms. Cost me a bomb in wigs and costumes, he has."

"Which uniform? Which regiment, I mean. Just out of interest."

"He didn't care, he wasn't specific. He was lucky that I put up with him at all."

"That's why I suggested you to him though, Sharon. Because you're so accommodating and your establishment makes dreams come true. Back to the uniforms though."

"Why? Do you like uniforms?" she asks, suddenly excited. She'll wear army uniforms for weeks in the hope of seeing him, I bet, and L makes no secret of revelling in her obvious adoration of him. I have no idea what's going on here.

"Naughty," he says, tapping her arm. "Japanese though, I take it?"

"They all look to same to me, L. Green with caps."

"Oh. Well, we do not approve of it anyway. Ok, thanks. Keep me posted."

She bows to me this time and kisses L on the cheek before she leaves. It's a quietly tragic scene because she attempts to catch his mouth but he turns his face to the side and pats her on the back. Then he watches her go and I watch him. The smug twat. "What?" he asks me when he notices how I'm looking at him.

"This is the worst fucking time to plan a change of orientation."

"She's my pet fruit fly. What? Can't I have hobbies? She's desperately in love with me, desperately... with me or my money. Anyway, the stars are not aligned and now she's got a terrible cocaine habit, isn't it the saddest thing? She's literally on her knees, it's hilarious. And before you say anything, it's not cheating," he says, straightening his jacket. I open my mouth and shake my head but no words come out. "Do you need burping?" he asks.

"I think I'll be ok, thanks," I say, and we start to walk along the corridor. "So, she's the official House whore then, I'm guessing."

"Madam. One of an approved list. Everyone's for sale, the question is, how much. Fond of your chief whip, are you?"

"Can't stand him."

"Well, if you ever want to wipe him off the face of the earth."

"I don't. I've used up my quota for sackings and deaths in the cabinet. I don't think that I can afford any more."

"Yes, it's been a regular Night of the Long Knives for the last month, hasn't it?"

"Not all mine now though. The opposition seem to be feeling the brunt of it now, which is fine, and he is loyal if nothing else. I could spare him, but it wouldn't benefit me if he went, not with my majority. Have you seen the poll?"

"I did. Very well done."

"What I need is a new Exchequer. Someone pliable, not a consensus man. Someone who'll follow me and not the sheep."

"I take it that you've still heard nothing about the budget then?"

"Not a whisper. The Treasury don't have a clue either."

"There hardly seems any point, considering your imminent retirement from political life."

"You mean my imminent retirement from life."

"Light, you've dropped your dummy," he says, and sticks an imaginary dummy in my mouth. "There. I can understand that you'd like to leave on a high. I'd suggest Mikami if he wins back his seat in the locals, and the polls suggest that he will. Of course, the press will be bad. In effect, you'd be giving a big pot of cash to a druggie."

"An ex-druggie."

"Once a druggie always a druggie. He'll never be able to get all the tar and feathers off. But, if you're looking for blind loyalty and someone who doesn't have a clue what they're doing and would happily take your budget on as his own, he's your man."

"I do think a reshuffle invigorates things a little. To get the cabinet as I would want it will take time. Large reshuffles could be seen as instability, especially with all the deaths lately."

"There's a lot of pressure on you. You have to have a capable ___and_ likeable cabinet, and it's hard enough to find those things separately."

"Sometimes I want to kill myself," I say blandly.

"God. Really?" he asks.

"No," I reply, then we carry on walking. "So, do you have anything on the Exchequer?"

"I'm afraid not. You know what you have to do, don't you."

"Bug his house."

"Office and private apartments. At the very least you'll catch him shagging someone he shouldn't and he'll resign if that leaked, no problem."

"He wouldn't shag anyone, that'd be _way_ too interesting for him."

"Light, don't be such a pessimist. There's always something. I'll make it a personal project of mine."

We divert into an old broom cupboard which is really too large to be considered a cupboard. There are arm chairs in here and a commemorative plaque to honour a mad woman who hid herself in here in the 1920's during the women's suffrage movement.

"I thought that I was your personal project," I say, and he leans towards me, smiling stupidly.

"Oh, you are, you are," he tells me before he kisses me.

It's sad, isn't it. Four years older, no wiser, and with a Machiavellian dagger right through my heart. I think I reached the summit of wisdom when I was twenty four or so. There was little else to know, and even that was reluctantly received. Such is life. Truthfully, I wonder whether I would concur with L if he were he not still very useful and my only real friend. After years of keeping everything to myself, it surprised me to find some relief in having a supporter I could be almost truly honest with. I consider myself most fortunate.

"Actually, I have another personal project for you," I tell him so seductively that he nearly falls over himself. That stupid bitch has a lot that she could learn from me.

"Ooooh!" he exclaims, but I block him with a few pieces of stapled together paper. He sighs as he takes it from me, flipping the pages back to see how long it goes on for. "Oh. But it's so early for a bedtime story, Light."

"I need the NPA to return evidence on Penber," I tell him as he reads, following it up with the necessary: "It's for Naomi."

"You want all the reports too?"

"Yes. It's for Naomi."

"You said that and I'm glad because I didn't hear you the first time. Why? What's the point, I mean. Penber's dead and Naomi's moved on ___twice _since then. She's like the Orient Express. A quick service and then she's off again."

"I think she'd like his things back."

"Mikami says that they're getting married," he says with complete disinterest as he turns a page.

"Yes."

"Why not? She must really like jewellery. She could open a shop selling all those engagement rings. The woman's jewellery box must be a regular gold mine."

"Does that sound ok then?" I ask.

"I hope she's not thinking of wearing white because, well, I'm not a traditionalist, but she'd be really pushing the bounds of believability."

"L, can you stop? I can't deal with it myself. You have to do it."

"I thought that you had links with the NPA."

"And I want to keep them for the time being. Also, I don't want my dad hearing about this. He's still very friendly with some of them and always seems to know what's going on. They still call him the Chief, for God's sake. When you go in, officially, you're acting as Naomi's lawyer."

"I might need power of attorney for that," he mumbles, and almost looks disappointed when I hand it over to him. "Naomi signed this?"

"Officially, yes."

"And unofficially, no?"

"Maybe. It'll work for what you need it for anyway. You're her lawyer. Go do your thing."

"I'm her unofficial barrister."

"Whatever. You're her representative."

"Barristers don't do this kind of gopher work. Not me, anyway."

"You will. I want you to handle it for me."

"Talk to the NPA?" he asks.

"No, to the Elvis fanclub. Of course, the NPA. But you don't have to talk to anyone because this has to be kept quiet. I want everything on that list, but the desk and its contents are the most important. Don't accept it if they say it's destroyed and don't let them tell you to come back later. When you get everything, hire a moving firm immediately and have it taken to your place. I'll reimburse you, of course."

"Oh, thanks. I wasn't sure that my bank account could cover the costs."

"And I want all reports and statements. Everything. Actually, make sure that they leave you alone in there so you can have a root around. Tell them that you work for me and if they don't give you everything you want, the government will launch a inquest into police procedu-"

"You don't have to tell me what to do, Light. I have done this before, and I've got a brain."

"I want it, L."

"Then you will have it."

"Even if it means upsetting them, do it. Use the government card if you have to. Just don't be easy on them."

"I still don't understand why all this is necessary."

"Naomi says that she needs closure."

"The way her art gallery is going, she might get some kind of closure."

"L. This is my last opportunity to do anything for her. I won't have any leverage once I resign."

"I'm sorry that I'm not sorry, but don't expect me to believe that you're doing this for her. Ok, Light. It's been... how many years? You have to be prepared that some things might have been destroyed and you not wanting to accept that is not going to make them come back."

"I want the desk and everything in it. That's the priority. The police took it from the flat after Penber was shot and there were classified files in there."

"About what?"

"I don't know. I just know that he was working on something, and we shouldn't have governmental files hanging around for police officers to read while they're eating Doritos."

"They're out of date though. Knowing police officers, the Doritos probably are too. I think that if anyone had read anything important then it would have been leaked already. I bet that they were shredded as soon as they realised that they weren't porn."

"L, I want those files."

"And I said that if I can get them then you'll have them. I know someone in the archives who'll give me access and I can bypass all the boring stuff at the main desk."

"Good."

"I'd wonder at your urgency but you waited nearly five years to chase this up."

"I only found out a few months ago. I tried to look into it... Well, Mikami did. But -"

"No need to explain. Mikami. Enough said, I completely understand. Light your entire cabinet and staff is made up of useless idiots."

"I know. He tries though. I wanted to keep it quiet and I can't trust anyone else, and you've been -"

"Busy, yes. I still am. Pile it on me, I'll muddle through," he says, folding the papers and sliding them inside his pocket. "What a lovely wedding present this crap will be for Naomi. Here's your dead fiancé's old desk. Something old."

"Is that my suit?" I ask. It's my suit. He's wearing my Z Zegna wool and silk micro check suit. I didn't believe it when I first saw him, but he's definitely wearing my Z Zegna suit, and with a grey tie it looks fucking atrocious, not to mention the fit. He looks like MC Hammer. It's a red tie suit if ever there was one, but I can't wear red so I'm lucky that it works with the right shade of blue. I've gone right off it. He makes it look like a cheap suit from a market stall that's been hacked together by someone who doesn't know what the fuck they're doing. "Did that woman just give you a blow in my suit?"

"Mmm," he sounds out proudly. "She tried. What do you expect if you leave things at my house? I thought it might look nice on me, but it doesn't look the same on me as it does on you."

"It's not tailored for you, that's why."

"No... you have things in places I don't," he says sulkily, and I make a snarfing noise which annoys him "Other things, Light."

"Like an arse?"

"I have an arse, you snivelling little shit, and you know very well that I have arse. What a stupid thing to say. Stupid man. Stupid, stupid man. Buy me a drink at the Club."

"How about... no?"

"I despise you, you perfect specimen. How long have I got you for?"

"I'll have to get back around nine," I say as we leave the cupboard. No one's around, which I'm oddly disappointed by.

"Three hours. Lovely. Ok, I'll buy you a drink in your horrible suit. It's not as fun since you forced people to pay for their own drinks instead of putting it on expenses. This is Yagami's Japan."

"Any word from Stephen?"

"Actually, yes. Very interesting."

"Really?"

"No, not really. He's decided to stay but he's going to pick up the rest of his things tomorrow. He and Naomi are thinking of starting a business together."

Fucking fuck deciding to say the stupid waste of space why can't he fuck off he's not fucking wanted here I'll have to have him deported for being a fucking fuck.

"Doing what?" I ask nicely.

"I don't think that they've thought that far ahead yet. But he was saying how wonderful_ In Search of Lost Time_ is again, and asking me why I haven't read it. I must read it, so he says. I read a chapter of it once, but I can't take a book seriously when it was written by an asthmatic who stayed in bed all day and had cork-lined walls. So, I told him something about Proust which he might not have known. I'm sure that he didn't. Apparently, our friend Proust had a sexual obsession with slaughtering. He was having sex with a butcher once and asked him: "How do you kill a calf? How much does it bleed?' He also showed photos of his mother to men in male brothels and ask them: 'What do you think of this tart?' Snippets like that stay in my head and you think they're useless bits of information until the occasion presents itself. Stephen was very upset."

"Did he cry?"

"He put the phone down on me."

"And probably cried."

"Now, now. It's true, he's unusually attached to Proust. It was very low of me."

* * *

"Well, at least I can be sure that you're not having an affair with her unless you've lost your taste," Kiyomi says, holding the curtain aside to watch my invited MP arrive. "What is she wearing? Are you sure that you want to do this this?"

"I can get a stylist to fix that."

"She'll have to go on a diet. It's even more important for women, Light. We've always been judged on our appearance."

Kiyomi and I are only just on speaking terms, and even that is full of barbs and unsubstantiated allegations. I spent last night here, and I'll spend tonight here. What more does she want? It's like being married to someone with a peculiar form of Tourettes. I hear the front door open and so must Kiyomi, who drifts back to her throne-like chair next to mine and adjusts her dress. We sit in silence until Yamada is heralded in by my cunt of a butler. I don't even know why I need a butler, but he came with the Kantei. It seemed rude to question how necessary he was.

Kiyomi wasn't wrong. The woman is wearing an African print scarf with an obnoxious chain and sun print on it in gold. What the fuck is that, Versace? A homage to slavery? Get the fuck out, bitch.

"Yamada-san," Kiyomi greets her as we all stand and bow at each other. "Please, call me Kiyomi."

"Thank you. My name is Tochiko. And thank you for inviting me to your home."

I walk towards her and her outfit gets worse the closer I get. I show her to her chair and note her shaking, clammy hands. However, she puts on a good front. I'll just have a doctor prescribe her some tranquilisers.

"How nice to see you," I say. "Your scarf's Versace isn't it? It really suits you and I love the political message. It's exactly what we stand for. Please take a seat."

"Thank you," she says, quickly bringing out a massive file. I'm not reading that. "I brought some -"

"Oh, let's not start like this. It's far too formal," I smile before stopping the stupid arse butler. "You. Did I tell you that you could leave?"

"Sorry, Prime Minister." He has a slipped disc in his back and bowing causes him intense pain, so he tells me. I make sure that he's put in situations where he bows constantly in apology.

"Would you like tea or coffee, Tochiko-san?" I ask.

"Coffee, please."

I nod to the bastard and he bows again before leaving with his order. "You should have tea for your nerves," I tell her. "You seem very anxious."

"I'm in the Prime Minister's home. Anxiety comes with the territory."

"But I'd hate to think that I inspire that kind of feeling in you, Tochiko-san."

She blushes. Even in this low light I can see the change in colour and the sense of guilty danger she feels. Kiyomi must see it too and laughs. "I think everyone is rather frightened of you, Light."

"Surely not. Are you frightened of me?" I ask Yamada.

"Oh no, Prime Minister."

"Good. My hobby isn't scaring ladies in my spare time, but you'd have to ask my wife if I'm very successful or not."

"And how are you, Kiyomi-san?" she asks, taking the hint to pay homage to Kiyomi.

"Very well, thank you," Kiyomi answers with an elegant dip of her head.

"Your home is beautiful."

"Thank you. All my own design. Light doesn't have the time or the interest."

"Now Kiyomi, you're bullying me and I can't have that. I must stamp my authority upon you," I say as the coffee arrives and is handed to Yamada with many bows on both sides. "Tochiko-san, you were saying about this... thing you've written?"

"I've drawn up a proposal looking into the sustainability of a nature reserve on what is now a rubbish dump in my constituency. Many rare species are in danger of extinction and I -"

"Excellent. I will read this over properly later," I say, taking the file from her and briefly looking over the first page. Then I put it on a table where it will stay until enough time has passed and I can give it back to her unread. "How are you liking Environment?"

"It's a great passion of mine. Conservation, finding a balance between humans and nature."

"With a healthy respect for nature, yes. But this area is a prime site for housing. Just outside Tokyo, it would considerably lessen the overcrowding problem we have here. Perhaps the nature reserve could be incorporated into it."

"But -"

"We have a problem of overpopulation to deal with within Tokyo if we want to retain some quality of life. We must think of the less fortunate. It's easy to forget that some people are living in windowless shoeboxes at this moment because of overpopulation. Nature will have to share those problems, don't you think? Adapt and make do with what we can spare. Tochiko-san, I can tell that you're passionate about environmental concerns, but I hope that won't conflict with any aspirations you have where your career is concerned? The reason I called you here is because I want to offer you the post of Foreign Secretary"

"Oh!"

"Unexpected?"

"Well. I. Yes."

"There is a lot of responsibility. I held that post myself and I feel that I should warn you of the pressure you will encounter. However, I am very supportive of the Foreign Office, and though I will rely on you heavily, I feel that you are the right person for the role."

I firmly believe that the analytical facilities of women are hampered by emotion and the ridiculous hysteria which is inherent in them, so they are not suited to certain pursuits. However, my cabinet is full of useless women in useless roles. I need a woman near me on the front benches, and she's probably the most capable. She's also from a working class background, which shows diversity in my party. I want to distance my government from the stereotype of privileged landed gentry representing the common man. She's without a university education, which is unfortunate, but I have placed an overeducated toff as her deputy, which hopefully should even it out. The Lady counted women out of the running for leadership in my lifetime, at least, so she's not a threat to me.

"I..."

"Thank you," I tell her. "Those are the words you're looking for. Thank you. I will do my best."

"Yes. I will. It's a great honour."

"Congratulations, Tochiko-san," Kiyomi smiles condescendingly from my left.

"Thank you."

"I won't brief you now, the Foreign Office will do that. I just want to inform you of my decision. Congratulations. I trust that you'll accept the position?" I ask. I wonder what other positions she'd accept, in a more physical sense.

"Yes," she bows. "Thank you for this opportunity."

"My advice is that you study foreign policy over the last thirty years - the failures and the successes as born out over time. Your predecessor, rest his soul, was scheduled to visit Germany in two weeks. Of course, you will have to take his place."

"Germany?"

"Mmmm... for a week. I don't suppose that you know any German, do you?"

"No."

"I'm giving you four days leave after tomorrow. Learn German."

"I don't think that I can learn German in four -"

"You have two weeks to perfect it, and you'll only need some basic conversation and political terms, that's all. You will also have a translator to fall back on, but it'll show that you've made an effort. It's amazing what we can do when we put our minds to something. Germany is very important. I like to think of it as the financial capital of Europe, so it's definitely worth making that extra effort. I'll have my secretary send some intensive learning programmes to you."

"My father had an excellent tutor," Kiyomi tells her. "I could pass on his details, if you'd like."

"Ah. Thank you," Yamada splutters. "But I'll have to speak with my husband to arrange things with the children."

"One thing I have no time for is when we let our private lives stand in the way of our duty," I tell her firmly. This is a fucking call to arms and a get a grip moment. I don't think that she appreciates what I'm offering her, completely against my better judgement. "The country comes first, and your husband, if he's as supportive as he should be, will understand that. When my son was born, Kiyomi told me that I had to work to improve the world for his future. You must do the same. Do we understand each other?"

"I couldn't agree more, Prime Minister."

"Please, call me Yagami-san. There will be a cabinet meeting tomorrow morning to finalise and officiate your promotion, then I'll hand you over to the Foreign Office. If you could be there by eight, you should have time to see the stylist before the meeting."

"A... a stylist?"

"And a hairdresser. You must join Kiyomi and I for dinner one evening. Kiyomi has a great knowledge of foreign affairs. Were she not a mother, I have no doubt that she would have made an excellent minister for any department, but especially Foreign. She doesn't let emotion cloud her decisions."

"Thank you, darling," Kiyomi smiles towards me for a brief and fake second.

"You're welcome, Kiyomi," I reply. "And bring your husband with you, Tochiko-san. We would love to meet him."

"He would love to meet you."

"What does he do?" Kiyomi asks.

"He's a bank manager."

"Which bank?"

"Shimizu."

"Oh," Kiyomi gasps and looks at me. Yamada looks confused and worried. Shimizu was one of the recipients of a government bail out a few years ago which was hugely unpopular. This is not good.

"That might be a problem," I decide, "but not insurmountable. He wouldn't mind a transfer to another bank, would he? One which isn't so prone to making horrendous mistakes which necessitates state investment to prevent falls in the stock market and instability in the Japanese banking system."

"Er..."

"And your children, how old are they?"

"Seven and ten."

"Where do they go to school?"

"Hagiwara."

"A private school? Well, since our recent improvements to the state system, I would appreciate it if you could move your children to a public school, at least until they're upper secondary age, then it would be perfectly acceptable if you chose to send them to a private school."

"But..."

"I'm sure that they'll love the change. As foreign secretary, you will benefit from the house provided for you by the state, but still retain your constituency house, obviously. Don't sublet it though, can't have that. That's been happening too often lately and then the idiots still put a claim in to expenses anyway. The constituency home must remain your home. Have you finished your coffee already?"

"Not qui-"

"Don't let us hold you up," I say, and Kiyomi and I stand, forcing Yamada to put her untouched coffee back down on the table. "I'm sorry that we've intruded on your time. We can discuss the finer details tomorrow. Oh, and don't mention this to anyone until it's official. You will have to give a press statement, live. It's scheduled for two o'clock, which gives you plenty of time. And I'll have a stylist find you in the morning to sort out... that. But leave it to him, you should prepare for your speech in that time, but listen to him and take notes because he's an excellent stylist. Now, the speech. Again, source other acceptance speeches for reference and mention a few of the policies we have planned for the near future. Use the House library. I've arranged for your new deputy to advise you after the cabinet meeting, and then PR. They'll look over your speech. I have every faith in you."

"Oh!"

"Is that lisp you have because of cheap dental work?"

"What? Um... no."

"Good. PR will start sorting that out tomorrow with some coaching. Congratulations again, it's well deserved. Ibuka will see you out."

"Thank you, Prime Minister. Kiyomi-san."

"Goodbye, Tochiko-san."

She opens her mouth like a fish gasping for words instead of air before being herded out of the room. I might have made a terrible mistake in hiring her, but I don't have much to play with here.

"Well, she's an idiot," Kiyomi says at last.

"Yes. PR have got their work cut out with her tomorrow."

"Kira would like to say goodnight," Akane tells us, poking her head around the door. She holds Kira in her arms and brings him over to us, even though he looks asleep already and won't remember any of this in the future.

"Goodnight, Kira. Goodnight!" Kiyomi says to him, waving his hand up and down in the air. Unsurprisingly, he starts screaming and Kiyomi and I sit back in our chairs in repulsion. "Ooooh, someone's in good voice this evening. Bye! Thank you, Akane, that'll be all."

As soon as Akane and Kira have gone, we revert back to our silent, slightly injured presence in each other's company until I pick out a cigarette and start looking over my diary for tomorrow, which starts Kiyomi off. "I thought that we could go to the country for the weekend, Light. I bought a tweed suit and I have nowhere to wear it. They say the weather will be awful, so I thought that would work out perfectly. Oh, I wish that you wouldn't smoke. It'll ruin your teeth. Not to mention your skin. And the furnishings."

"I'll have to smoke a lot more to have an effect on any of those things."

"There's a line between confidence and arrogance, and you're heading towards arrogance. Give it here," she tells me. She smokes it. She coughs. She hands it back to me. "Urgh. What time will you be finished tonight?"

"I don't know."

"Can I help?"

"No. I need to read these. It's no help to me if you read them instead."

"So, the country on Saturday?"

"I don't think that I can. But you go, by all means."

"Are you still working on your book?"

"I was planning to this weekend."

"Oh. Well, I'll take Kira. Maybe you can join us on Sunday?"

"We'll see."

"Aren't you a bit premature writing a biography at this stage of your career?"

"It's a chronicle."

"A chronicle, then."

"No. It's a standing achievement of what I've accomplished. If I time it right, in three years or so, it should be out it paperback before the next election."

"Oh, good thinking. You're so clever," she says. I look at her, appreciating that she hasn't mentioned my inconstancy for at least ten minutes. In my mind though, I was never constant to her, so her argument was null and void in that respect.

"I don't like that dress," I tell her. She smiles and stands in front of me, so I go back to reading over my diary.

"Should I take it off?"

"And burn it. No, just don't wear it again."

"Light," she whispers.

"No."

"You don't know what I was going to say."

"You've just had a baby. Control yourself."

"We can do other things," she says.

"Sit. Down," I tell her. This results in a moment of silence during which I'm not certain if I'm going to end up being hit or whether she'll do what I say with some grace. She does the latter.

"Your mind is filthy. I like it. I was actually going to say: this trip to China, I'll be going with you, won't I?"

"I think it'd be best if you stay here with Kira."

"We could take him with us."

"I don't need a baby around. No, it'll only be for a few days. I'll take Mikami or L."

"Light..." she starts up again, but her phone rings. She appears to be content to ignore it since she's staring at me so eagerly.

"That's your phone, isn't it?" I ask. She sighs and picks it up from the table, walking around with it, talking into it in hushed tones. Then she stops walking and stops talking. She stands there and it's so odd to me that I can't take my eyes off her. When she ends the phonecall, I look back at my diary before she turns towards me.

"Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow," I say, but she doesn't answer. After a while, I look up at her, now standing in the same spot but with a hand covering her mouth. What light there is in the room makes her eyes seem so large and liquid and so entirely unlike her that it puts me on edge. "What's wrong with you?"

"Stephen... Stephen's dead."


	28. In You I Crash Cars

**A/N **Right, right, right. We are so very near the end now, people. This chapter was interesting because big sections of it were written last October and I was surprised that they still kind of worked. It was also difficult because there were two deaths close to me this month, and because Light views death in a really porny way, I didn't really feel like going there. So, if those parts are a bit disjointed and don't work too well then that's probably why.

I want to say hello and thanks to people who have left reviews or just read it and stuff, and to the royalty on tumblr. Also thanks to Jaye, who's been really brilliant (as she usually is) and we've been talking about how we both consider Light to be asexual (actually, I think that thebarstool and I spoke about it too a few months back, so thanks to her too). It's complicated for a traditional ff, so I made him more demisexual and, unrelated to that, a complete nut in this. Talking with Jaye made me put little asexual snippets in again. Man, this chapter is complicated shizzle. WHY CAN'T THEY BE NICE AND HAPPY TOGETHER?! P.S. Sorry for the word count again.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

**In You I Crash Cars  
**

* * *

Mikami told Kiyomi that L's at the hospital, but that he's ok. I don't know what 'ok' means and I need specifics, but when I phone Mikami back, he doesn't have any. All he knows is that Stephen's dead and L's at the Tōkyōmusashino Hospital. My calls to L's phone go unanswered, and in every second that passes, my vision of L in a hospital bed grows more concrete and detailed and stained with fact, like it _has_ happened and I've seen it with my own eyes. People shaking their heads over his flatline on the monitor and removing their plastic gloves after they put a bloody sheet over his face. Maybe Stephen went mad and shot him and then himself. He's killed my L. I've thought about L dying in the past so many times and I thought there was something glorious about it, but there's no beautiful ending and freedom from violence ripping him away from me.

And I don't care if he's dead, I'll drag Stephen's body from the hospital and drive over him in my car over and over again until there's nothing left of him. Then... I don't know. I don't know what I'll do then, and it's the uncertainty of the situation and the horror of possibly being completely alone which is why I order my driver to bring my car around immediately. I've always considered myself alone and I was happy that way, I'd do all I could to stay that way. But when L left, I realised that practically from the second he walked into my office for the first time, I haven't been alone, not really. Even when he was abroad, he was still reachable, albeit over a torturous distance. The option of finding him was always there for me, though I thought it was worse than if he was dead at the time. I wished him dead. But if he is dead now, then I can never find him, whether he wants me to or not. And I don't want to know what that's like, to be in that place. I don't want to have something that means more to me than everything else in the world combined and lose it.

When I say that I'm going to the hospital see if L's alright, Kiyomi insists on coming with me, and for some reason she wants Kira to come with us. To comfort her, she says, although I don't see what comfort he could be unless she uses him like a living teddy bear. I don't have the time or patience to argue though, beyond a 'no' which is ignored, and a minute later, we're both in the car with Kira strapped into a baby seat between us. I just want to get to the hospital, I don't care. She gives up on trying to talk to me and gets over Stephen's death quickly enough. That's Kiyomi. Ten minutes before, tears were streaming in black rivers down her face, but now her face is clean and she's reapplying mascara in a pocket mirror. I watch her, stunned by her ability to adjust to things so quickly, when I notice Kira staring at me. I'm probably a unclear blur of a face to him and he must wonder who the hell I am. I can't stand him looking at me, so I turn towards window instead.

There's no record of L's admittance to the hospital. Then I jump the queue again and ask the shocked receptionist where Stephen is, and he _is_ listed, so I aim for the ward he was in. Kiyomi and my guard rush to catch up with me at the elevator, with Kiyomi trying to stop Kira's head from bobbing with her hand as she runs, and my guard shouting after me to stop because he's clearly torn between who to prioritise. He prevents other people who've been waiting from getting into the elevator with us, and the clunking thing is so fucking slow, stopping at floors, that I want to bounce myself off the walls of it.

We're directed to the waiting room when Kiyomi finds a nurse who has seen both Stephen and L, and I almost don't go there. I want to check each room and bed until I find L, but something about these places make you do what people tell you to do. When I open the door, L's facing the window with his hands in his pockets. I've convinced myself so completely that I'll find him in surgery or in a morgue that it takes me a second to believe that he's standing in front of me.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" I ask angrily, and he turns, pale-faced, looking at me like I'm in a dream he's having. "You scared the shit out of me, you bastard."

Kiyomi arrives and pushes past me, leaning Kira's head against her shoulder so she can put her free hand on L's arm.

"Oh, Lawliet, I'm so sorry. What happened? You look awful, just awful," she tells him. I shouldn't have let her come. L glances between us in confusion which has just been amped up a notch by my wife's hopeless attempt to comfort him. She's confused by his confusion and looks to me as well. "Light, what should we do?"

"We should stop telling him that he looks awful for a start."

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I just can't believe it. What happened?"

"Stephen died," he says simply. Yes, that's nice, but why are you here and why can't you answer your phone?

"But how?" she asks. "He can't die, he's the healthiest man in the world!"

"Obviously not. He just died, Kiyomi. It's my fault. Mine and your husband's."

What?

"What do you mean? You're upset. Do you want a coffee? I'll get you a coffee. Look after him," she says, handing Kira to me. I don't want him, I have no use for him, the veins throb under the thin skin on the top of his head and I don't like it, so I pass him to my guard who straps him into the baby carrier and leaves him on a chair. I step towards L, but Kiyomi comes back in as the guard is about to follow her. Why can't they all just fuck off?

"Sorry, have you got any money, Light?"

"Cash? No. Use my card," I say.

"Do vending machines take cards? Is there an ATM?"

"I don't know. Ask at reception."

"Christ, here," L sighs, and hands her a fistful of change from his wallet.

"Oh. Thanks, Lawliet. I'm sorry. I'll be right back," she says, darting out again and taking the guard with her. We should have two guards here. I'm unattended and could be killed by any passing terrorist.

"Take your time," L says after she leaves, then turns back to the window and mutters to himself: "'Thanks, Roraito!' Fucking bitch. There's someone who never had to manage on student loans. You're another one."

"And you're another one," I remind him. As I approach him, I see how loose his jacket is around his tense shoulders, and I realise that he's not really ok, he's just able to stand. What the fuck happened to him? "What do you need?"

"Nothing. Evil men need nothing. Apart from change for the vending machine, apparently."

"What are you talking about? You're not evil."

"No?"

"No. Sit down," I tell him, and pull him towards the chairs. I need to get him out of here.

"Well, I suppose that you'd know," he says as he sits down.

"I'm not evil either. Are you ok?"

"Why are you asking about me? I'm not dead, Stephen is. Don't you want to know how he died? Don't you care?"

"No. Uh... I mean, yes."

"You answered right the first time," he smiles acerbically. "You don't give a shit."

"He was your friend, L, not mine."

"Yes, we were just friends that shared a house for months. Is that what you want to think?"

"You moved him in with you to keep an eye on him, you said."

"No, that wasn't the reason and I didn't say that. You just don't care about anyone, do you?"

I don't know why L's validating whatever they had, because he usually plays it down or denies it completely now, and I hate Stephen even more than I did before, which was quite a lot. I don't care that he's dead. I'm actually thrilled about it, and I shrug, not really knowing what to say to L. Whatever I say, it'll sound hollow, because he knows me.

"I'm sorry for _him_ that he died."

"Oh, that's good of you. Fuck's sake."

"I guess that it's sad, but, y'know, these things happen."

"Whoa, stop. No. No. But you... People are dying all around you and you don't bat an eyelid. MPs from your cabinet who you work with every day die and all you do is moan that you've got another funeral to go to."

"It's costing a fortune in suits. Besides, they're bastards, so no, I don't care."

"Yes, but Stephen was not a bastard," he informs me. I tilt my head towards my shoulder and roll my eyes a little, because I'm not convinced that that's true, but it makes L go batshit. "He wasn't! You should just go. You're the last person I want to see right now, apart from, I don't know, your wife? But oooh, you brought her with you in a double whammy! Bra-fucking-vo, Light."

"She just got in the car, I couldn't stop her!" I say defensively, but he scoffs at me and rubs the side of his face with his hand. God, he looks so tired. "What did happen?"

"They say that his heart just stopped. No warning, nothing. It stopped and they couldn't start it again."

"That's the only explanation they've given you? That's not an explanation, that's a fact of death. I'll find a doctor and get some more information," I tell him, but he takes hold of my arm to stop me from standing.

"Light. I just want some proof of life from you. A good man has died and we're left, and I know what I am, but sometimes I don't know if you're good or not, you could be both. You didn't have anything to do with this, did you? You didn't want him dead? Even if you did, tell me that you feel as guilty as I do."

"I don't understand."

"You did this. This is your fault, and you should feel guilty."

"What are you saying? How could I make him have a heart attack?"

"Because you always seem to get your way. They don't know what the cause was. Is it just me or does this remind you of Wedy?"

"Not this again."

"Yes, this again."

"You think that I had him killed? Oh my God," I exhale as I stand up and walk a few steps away. It feels like he's taken all the oxygen from the room and replaced it with a crushing, dreamlike, stoned atmosphere. "That shit only happens in spy novels, L. What reason would I have to kill him?"

"He meant something to me. You knew that and you ran right over him to get to me like he wasn't even there."

"I never did anything to him."

"We were happy before you muscled your way back in. Why couldn't you have just left us alone!?" he shouts, and my immediate reaction is to walk towards the door. "That's right. Run away."

"I'm not running away. Look, you're upset. I get that. That's fine, but don't blame me for every bad thing that happens. It's raining; it's Light's fault. There's a bombing in the Middle East; it's Light's fault. Stephen died of natural causes; it's Light's fault. Listen to yourself.'

"Funny. You seem to know more than the doctors. They haven't said that it was from natural causes."

"A heart attack is a natural cause," I remind him, but he doesn't answer, he just puts his head in his hands. "I don't know, L. Maybe it was the curse. Let's sacrifice a fucking goat or a chicken or something to appease the gods."

"Has anyone else noticed that the curse has done nothing but benefit you and just you? Did you get bored of boning your way to the top? Killing people is so much quicker and easier and more effective, isn't it?"

"God, L!"

"I'm just saying that every person who was in your way or has annoyed you is dead. Every one."

"You don't seriously think that the curse is real?" I ask, and in the silence which follows, the idea runs through my mind. I know what he's thinking. "You think that _I'm_ the curse."

"No, I... I don't know. I don't know anymore."

"L, look at me. You're a logical man. I can't magic heart attacks in people - no one can - and even if I could, believe me, I can think of better people to kill than Stephen," I say. No reaction. Because his face is still half-covered by his hands, I kneel in front of him to look up into his face and take a softer approach. "You must have liked him a bit, so I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't kill anyone."

"Yes, you would."

"Ok. Tell me how I did it. How did I kill him?"

"I don't know. I just know that it's your fault."

"This is ridiculous," I laugh as I stand up again. He's determined to blame me and there's nothing I can do about it now apart from wait for him to realise what a prick he's being.

"I've been thinking about it since I heard," he says, sitting back calmly in his chair. "They told me, and the first thing that I thought of was you. Your face. And I realised that you're to blame. It's ok though, I understand. To be with you means that people die. Oh, the drama."

"No it doesn't!"

"I can't be happy with you. We can't be happy. It's just not supposed to happen, is it?"

We're both swamped by the despondency of what he's saying. I'm going to tell him that we're leaving. He just needs to go to sleep and think about this rationally in the morning, and I'll make him see it rationally if it kills him. Maybe he needs a hug or something? I have no idea what to do in this situation, mostly because I don't understand why he's like this, and there's something radioactive about him right now. To me, Stephen dying is no different from Jeevas dying, and I liked Jeevas a lot more in comparison. Yeah, L might have fucked him a few times but who hasn't he fucked? I've slept with people and they've died, I don't cry about it and blame L. It's just a 'Really? What a shock!' moment, and then I go mad and eat a rice biscuit.

I'm going to risk it and hug him, but as I step towards him, Kiyomi returns carrying a cup of coffee and a stuffed toy for L. What the fuck is she thinking of? She's getting worse every day. Oh. Thankfully, the stuffed toy must be for Kira, because she's put it on the chair next to him. Trust Kiyomi to find a shopping opportunity in a fucking hospital of all places.

"I'm sorry but it's that bad kind of coffee," she says, handing L the cup. "Now, tell me what happened. Hey, are you ok?"

"Kiyomi, I'm staying at L's tonight," I say quickly. Yes, right now, we're going. Goodbye.

"No you are not," L laughs as his phone starts ringing, and he pulls it out of his pocket like he doesn't know what it is. "Hello?... Yeah, I know... No, there's no more news yet. When I hear something, I'll let you know. Who told you?... Oh."

"Light?"

"My, gossip spreads fast, doesn't it? So it was you who phoned the Prime Minister and his wife then? They're here now... Yes, they're very kind... No, there's no point in waking her. Tell her in the morning and tell her, tell her that they don't think that he suffered... Yes, probably. I hope so... That's nice of you to offer, but I've got my car here, I'll be fine. Thanks though... He was thirty-four... I know..."

"Light, are you listening to me?" Kiyomi asks me. I don't know how long she's been trying to get my attention, but short of hitting me in the face with Kira and dancing an Irish jig on my stomach, she hasn't got much hope.

"Sorry. What did you say?"

"I said that you staying with Lawliet is a good idea."

"Hold on a minute, Mikami," L says. "I said, no. You are not staying with me."

"Just for tonight and we'll see how you are tomorrow," I tell him.

"Yes, listen to Light," Kiyomi says. "You can't be alone; you need your friends. He's very good at times like this and he makes a lovely cup of tea."

"If I'm left alone with your husband, one of us will die," he tells her before he sips his coffee, shocking her like a trailer tagline for a horror film. "Urgh, you weren't wrong about this coffee."

"Oh God. I'll... I'll get a doctor," she gasps, and runs outside again. It has no effect on L or myself.

"Sorry, Mikami, what were you saying?" he says into the phone after another swig of coffee. It's fascinating how revived he is by some godawful coffee. "Oh, that was nothing. People are fussing... The Prime Minister, yes. Ever thoughtful. What a catch he was for Kiyomi. Right, I have to go now. I'll see you at work... What? Well, you could drop off some crystal meth for me... No, I'm not serious... No, I'm not suicidal. I told you, I'm fine. I just... I need to get out of this fucking country... I can't do that. Taking time off isn't something I do... Christ, I hadn't thought of that... No, I've got their number. Thanks."

He ends the call and stares at the phone. The coffee hit has apparently left as fast as it came. "Shit."

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Mikami just reminded me that Stephen has a family."

"I'll call them."

"Yes, I'm sure they'd love to be told that their son is dead by an stranger with a thick Japanese accent. They'll get a lot out of that. And you're hardly sympathetic at the best of times. Remember on your last campaign when you worked on the phones for a depression hotline for an hour and that man hung himself?"

"He did it the next day, it wasn't my fault. I... maybe you're right," I sigh.

"Yes, I'm right. I'm always right."

"Think about it tomorrow. Or give me their number and I'll get someone at the embassy to let them know."

"No. Maybe the CIA will phone them, but I should call to make sure that they know. That's the right thing to do, isn't it? I should do the right thing."

He looks around the room and notices the baby carrier. Kira hasn't made a sound this entire time. I wonder if Kiyomi swapped him for a realistic doll because it'd be less trouble.

"God, what's that? Kiyomi's handbag?" L asks, standing up to investigate. I see Kira's eyes attempt to focus on L as he approaches, and neither of them look very impressed with what they see.

"That's Kira," I say.

"Fuck, he's ugly, Light. He looks like a turnip." I'm so glad that Kiyomi isn't here to hear him say that. He closes in on Kira and peers at him. "You look nothing like your father," he says to him. "Look at him, Kira. He's beautiful and you're nothing. No use to anyone until you start paying your taxes. I feel so sorry for you."

"He can't understand you."

"No, he can't, but I wish that he could," he says. "I'm going to murder your father, Kira. And if you could understand, you'd thank me. He'll be dead before you have any memories of him."

"Are you?" I ask, and he looks at me instead of Kira.

"What? Am I going to kill you? I should, but I can't. You'd like me to, wouldn't you?"

"If anyone was to kill me, I'd want it to be you. I'd want your face to be the last thing I see." I mean it too, I think. Maybe not, but I bet that Stephen never said anything like that to him, and that is as romantic as I fucking get. Anyway, it seems to have the desired effect on him because his face has gone a much healthier colour.

"I thought the same about you once, but then you did try to kill me and I didn't want to die. Maybe it's because you think that I'm the only person who's worthy enough to kill you, but if it came down to it, you wouldn't want to die either. You'd kick and scream like the little bitch that you are," he says. Oh. I'll have to try harder. Kira starts crying, and I mourn the loss of the cabbage patch kid I've had for the last hour. Both L and I take a step away from him and the noise, but L talks to him, and bizarrely, he shuts up. "Oh, Did you hear that, Kira? Shame you can't understand that, because that sums up exactly what's wrong with your father and why you're going to turn into a complete fuck up, just like him. God, but you are ugly. Are you sure that he's your father?"

"Stop talking to him now," I sigh. I'm tired of his crap, and I have no idea why I'm so happy that he's not dead like Stephen.

"Why, is it upsetting you?"

"No."

"It should. There's something very wrong with you, Light. You should love him. You should be willing to throw yourself in front of a volley of bullets for him and an out of control race horse and a train and some pillaging Vikings, but you wouldn't. You'd use him as a shield instead. Life is so cruel to such little things, and it only gets worse. Doesn't it depress you?"

"No."

"I can almost see you building walls around yourself, you shit. I thought that you felt guilty for bringing him into this. Was that just a fleeting fancy from lack of sleep?" he asks, but I don't have time to answer, even if I could be bothered to. A doctor comes in with Kiyomi - a sort of efficient but fundamentally inept doctor with interpersonal handicaps. He looks like B, in that he looks like the sort of doctor who has a syringe full of weedkiller in his coat pocket.

"Right, are we ok here?" he says without looking at any of us. He looks very bored until he sees me and realises who he's in the room with. "Oh!"

"Yeah, we're ok," I tell him. "Sorry for bothering you. We're taking him home."

"Prime Minister! It's so nice to meet you. I saw you once when you were visiting your wife in the clinic but I never thought that I'd actually speak to you. I wonder if you have a moment? I have some reservations about your changes to the health service."

L immediately walks out of the room and I won't be far behind. I incline my head towards Kira's carrier so the guard remembers to take him back to the Kantei, because I can't trust Kiyomi to remember.

"Write a letter to my office and I'll be sure to read it and reply. And contact the Health department. Tell them that you spoke to me," I tell the idiot with a doctorate, who unwisely perseveres.

"It won't take a moment."

"I'm sorry, but a friend of ours has just died," I hear Kiyomi tell him as I follow L. He was no friend of mine.

* * *

"I'll get you a drink," I say, and drop L's car keys heavily into the bowl. We didn't speak in the car and I was surprised that he gave up his keys to me, considering that he said that he didn't want me around at all, but I suppose that he couldn't be arsed to drive himself. I asked him one thing in the car and he didn't answer. He mustn't have heard me and I hate repeating myself, so I left it at that and L played one miserable dirge after another on the stereo, like he had a prepared CD for the death of a CIA agent who made a reasonable lasagne and fucked him a few times. He doesn't seem to have heard me now and just walks straight towards his bedroom, and for some reason I follow him. I want some acknowledgement from him that I'm trying to help and he knows it and he's thankful for my time and effort. I'm trying, and maybe he'll realise that blaming me is out of fucking order. I want a thank you. I want him to say something. Every moment of silence from him worries me, like he's putting his plans in order for a cataclysmic backlash. "L, do you want a drink?" I ask him, but he stands with his back to me, not moving.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out, his arms hanging at his sides. I walk beside him and see that he's staring at a shirt on the bed. It must have been left there by Stephen, I guessing. I remember that L mentioned that he was coming over at some point, unless L's taken to wearing it. I push out accusations from my mind, like, why had Stephen left his shirt on the bed like that.

"He was here? Did he die here? L, were you with him?"

"No. We had an argument, I told you in a text message, and I... well, I threw him out," he says with difficulty. He swallows to force back emotion or something, and I do not fucking understand him!

"I didn't get the message, I changed my phone number. Why was he here? When was he here?"

"He was here to get his things, Light, what do you think? I told you, remember? He must have got here around eight and he didn't call first, so I was angry. Why? Do you think that it was my fault?"

"No. No, it would have happened anyway."

"We had a fight and he died."

"L, it wasn't your fault. Get that out of your head."

"I don't know where he died. My number was his emergency contact. We had a fight and the next thing I know, I get a call from the hospital saying that he'd collapsed. I don't know, do you think that he was dead then, when they called me? They never tell you over the phone, do they? They always make it sound like less than it is. I wonder if..."

He stops talking and just gazes at the shirt. I walk forward and grab it from the bed angrily, like a rag in my hand, and put it in a drawer out of sight, but I can tell that L can still see it in his mind and he probably always will. When I turn, he's still staring at the spot where it was and he starts to choke, like some water has slipped into his lungs. My stomach twists with panic - it must be panic – and he breathes in suddenly like he really is drowning.

"Don't do that," I say, rushing towards him, and he holds me like he might fall apart if he doesn't. My shoulder feels damp through my shirt as he cries silently into it for minutes on end, and I really, really don't understand why this has hit him so hard. Death always makes him act strangely, even if he hated the person, but I don't understand this at all. I'm surprised that I don't try to stop him or remove myself away from this situation and that I'm content and almost grateful for being allowed to do this. Eventually his back stops lurching up and down under my hand as he calms down.

"I know that it doesn't make sense to blame you," he says. His voice is thick and his fingers dig into my shoulders. I'm so sorry, but I just want my old L to come back, because he wouldn't cry. I never thought... I thought that he'd be back to normal in the morning, but I can't see that happening now.

"It's ok, I'm used to it. It comes with the job."

"But I shouldn't blame you. You're not the PM to me."

"I know. You're just upset, L. It's shock."

"How could you have done it anyway?" he whispers, pulling away to screw the heel of his hand to his eye. "You wouldn't take a risk like that for me."

Oh, no, he's wrong. He doesn't realise what risks I've taken for him. Even now, he doesn't know how much he means to me, and it makes me clasp my hand to the back of his head when he pulls his hair off his face. Funny how emotions like this make people so self-conscious and ashamed. I can understand this and I'm sorry that he's ashamed, but I'm glad that I'm here.

"I would take a risk for you."

"Don't."

"No. I have taken risks for you, and I will keep on taking risks for you until I die," I say. He squeezes his eyes together, as if trying to block out my words or some thought which he can't kill. Someone else took a risk for him - L let him - and he died for it. "He couldn't have meant anything to you." Please tell me that he didn't mean anything. Tell me that you're tired and shocked, but he didn't mean anything.

"He did. He was starting to."

No, that's not the right answer, I don't like that answer. It can't be true, and I pull away from him to see his eyes. "No. You're lying."

"He's dead but he's in my mind more than he was when he was alive. All the things he said to me. You never knew him, you never saw him, really. I brought him into this and he died because of me."

"No."

"Now you're lying," he smiles, then grasps me and holds me so tightly that I can't take anything but shallow breaths while I feel his own chest expand and rise and heave against me, but I don't care. I kiss his shoulder through his shirt and hate Stephen. I hate him, hate him, hate, hate... fuck!

And I kiss L to reclaim him, to get Stephen out of his mind, to celebrate his death - I don't know, maybe all of those things. I kiss him because he's slender, sexless, childlike and weak to me now, and I feel like I don't know him. I've never seen a man cry, let alone L. Crying is only meant for women and children. I can't imagine doing anything but this to him now, and even this much seems like a transgression and a prelude to something which people get arrested for. But he kisses me back suddenly with a vehemency. His teeth knock against mine, his lips are crushing and slippy from my innocent affection as he forces his tongue into my mouth, skirting my teeth, and he digs his fingers into my back like he's trying to skewer down to the bones of me. My back stiffens from the thrill of my displaced underestimation of him. It's a primitive need in him, and now I think that he might see it as a road to forgetfulness for a time. Thoughts are pushed out of the way for a blood-filled, vital, growling instinct. It's a terrible thing, but we'll play this out until the end. He'll be astride me just when I think that control is mine, and he'll exhaust me because he wants to mar me, because it's all lies.

* * *

We're both awake. The alarm went off ten minutes ago, and since then, I've been staring at the ceiling and L's been staring at me. I wonder how long I can stand his gaze, but it turns out that I can out of obstinacy and reluctance to let him see that it's bothering me. His eyes are judging arrows. I don't know what to say to him to break the silence, and think that it'd be better if I didn't say anything, so the silence drags on until I check to see if L is still staring at me. He is.

"If you could change one thing you've done in your life, what would it be?" he asks me. It's such a childish question that I smile at him, but he doesn't smile back. He's asking me so he can compare my answer with his own and judge our individual worth upon his findings. Are we decent people? Probably not. I have no regrets. One of his elbows is crooked under his head so that his hand hangs above him like a parasol. He's all sharp angles and long limbs and an imperfectly perfect equation of the mind, and I love him more than anything in the world.

"Nothing," I answer.

"Not one thing?"

"I can't think of anything. I think everything happens when it does for a reason, and things have worked out ok. Maybe that I could have made more impact on crime rates and... ha."

"What?"

"I wanted a suit a few years ago but I didn't get around to buying it."

"Couldn't you have just gone in and bought one?"

"Off the rack? Have you learned nothing?" I laugh at him, and he's still staring up at me, completely undecipherable to me now. He doesn't have any comment, no sarcasm, no ridicule, so I blink and look back at the ceiling. "It might work for you some of the time, but I like to have things tailored. I might still get one, one day. But in a way, I think it's one thing I want to keep as an aspiration. What about you?"

"Oh, there are a few things," he whispers. "Absent mother, distant father. Maybe I could have made more effort with them. B. You."

"Me?"

"Hmmm... And Stephen isn't the first person in my life to die when he shouldn't have, although he might have been the first who genuinely cared for me more than he cared about himself. He was the selfless sort. That both feet first sort of person you hear about, but in reality everyone is too scared and self-centred. 'He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.' All that bollocks."

"I'm sorry, L."

"No you're not. I bet you're laughing inside. I liked that about you. It mesmerised me because I'd never met anyone who gave less of a shit about people and yet cared so much about how you appear to them. I have some regrets, but above all of them, if I could change just one moment in my life, I wish that I'd never laid eyes on you."

I always guess his mood by the tone of his voice, and going by his soft, tender delivery now, I was not expecting him to say something like that to me. I glare at him for a moment to see that he really means it, before sitting up to think without his eyes looking back into mine. I see him turn onto his back and his legs stretch out beside me under the sheets. As if he'd never said anything hurtful at all, he carries on talking in a misty, longing way, like he's drunk on sadness.

"I'm glad that I don't believe in life after death, because I'd hate to think that Stephen is sitting on a cloud somewhere thinking: 'I know - I'll check on L. He must be really cut up about me.' And he finds me in bed with you when he's not even cold and buried. What would he think?"

The elastic of my boxers is snaps snugly around my waist, and no, I couldn't care less about what Stephen might think. I don't know, I didn't care when he was breathing and I care even less now. He's dead and he doesn't think anything anymore, so this is pointless.

"At least he knows now, I suppose," L mutters behind me. "He always wanted to know the truth, and now he must know. But I am cut up about it, Light. I really am. And I hate you for what you did to him."

"I -"

"Yes, you did," he smiles when he interrupts me. "It's my fault. I should have realised that you'd never be so unselfish. And I'm ok with that now. I've learned my lesson." When he closes his eyes as he presses the side of his face into his pillow, I feel like I've disappeared. "I'm sorry. You'd probably understand, though I never deserved your understanding or anything else you gave me, and you must know that now - how you wasted yourself on me. I never should have let you be anywhere near me."

"What?" I ask, and he opens his eyes slowly.

"Not you. I mean Stephen. I think he's still here."

I'm not going to stay here while he makes that bastard into more than he was. "This is lunacy. I'll get you some coffee," I say. The silence seems more pronounced now. I couldn't hear it before. I sense every breath he makes, every little electrical spark in him. Maybe it's this room with grey walls, like a box for batteries. Something as faint as the sound of fabric of my trousers gliding over my leg sounds like a waterfall of noise.

"Could you pass me my address book over there?" he asks as I buckle my belt. I look up to see him pointing towards a cupboard with some crap on, including a leather business filofax. Who uses those things nowadays?

"This?" I hold the book up and place it into his waiting hand when he doesn't answer. He flips through the pages of names and numbers and it seems familiar to me. I've seen him do this over so many breakfasts and lunches because he can't stop for one fucking minute. He settles on a page and picks up his phone from the bedside table. I'm quite content to just watch him while he focuses on something so mundane and ignores me. I don't even mind being ignored.

"Now get out," he says, and he looks up at me when I don't move. "I need to phone his parents and I can't do that while you're here. Stay out of my office. I know that you root around there sometimes, and I don't know what you're looking for but it can fucking stop right now."

"I don't root around your -"

"Just get out."

The next thing I notice is that I'm staring at the dried splashes and my distorted reflection on a chrome kettle as it boils in the cold kitchen. I should have put on a shirt, really. Something. This thing really does take a long time when it's being watched, but then it does boil and switches itself off, and I go through the motions of tea-making without thinking. I pause outside L's office for a moment before impulsively sliding the door open. I want to open drawers and read his notes and his work diary and assert myself, but I don't. I just close the door again, I think, or time skips, because then I'm standing outside L's closed bedroom door holding the two cups and listening for the low rumble of his voice and indiscernible words to stop. I don't know how long it takes, because time means nothing to me right now. My eyes are fixed on the grain of the wood in front of me, and I feel more uncertain and locked out than I have in my life. The steam once rose from the cups, but now it doesn't. The heat on my fingers doesn't burn anymore, not by the time I go back inside, again impulsively, and through a pure flash of anger which sprung up from disjointed, chaotic non-thoughts.

"You're still here? Isn't your wife wondering where you are?" he asks, taking the cup I'm holding. He seems full of repressed agitated movement, and he's standing and dressed now, wearing a jumper and jeans I've never seen him wear before. "This is cold," he says at the cup, and it's like a knife to the stomach to me, for some reason. He puts my failure on the bedside table as he walks to the now open wardrobe and just gazes inside it, though there's little to see.

"What did they say?" I ask.

My question knocks him into pulling out two suitcases, opening one and throwing them onto the crumpled bed. "They hadn't been told," he says flatly, placing some trousers into the open suitcase. "Well, if you're staying, you should help me deal with this."

"L."

"Can't you clean up your own mess? Do I have to do everything for you? Even this?" he hisses at me, all raging anger and still moving to and from the wardrobe, dumping clothes on and around the suitcases. Yes, I'm in the same room as a madman.

"I don't think that you should do this now," I say.

"Don't you? Well, I can't register the death because it's been passed onto the coroner, so what do you suggest that I do today?"

"Why can't you register the death?"

"Because they can't explain how he died, you fucking idiot! He shouldn't have died, so they're going to slice him up to find out why. God, it's amazing that you can still be so clueless at the age you are."

"They told you that he would have to have an autopsy?"

"It's how things work, Light. So I have to wait for them to find a cause of death before I can do anything, apart from tell the US consul. I had to tell his parents that; that their son is dead and there's no reason for it, and that he's going to be chopped up and weighed up in pieces until they find out why. And you know, I don't think that they'll find a reason, do you? They didn't with Wedy, did they? Or most of those other people whose funerals you've been to. Of course, you wouldn't know about autopsies, because your life has been a bed of roses since the day you were born. I really worry about how you'll cope when something bad _does_ actually happen to you. My guess is that you'll crack up completely and that'll be the end of you. But then, you don't care about anyone, so death is just an excuse for another fucking suit, isn't it?"

"That's not fair, L."

"What the fuck is fair? There is no fairness," he says, and goes back to transferring clothes and shoes from the wardrobe to the bed until it starts to look like a garage sale.

"But why do you have to do all this? Why do you have to do everything?"

"Because I can. Because otherwise his family would have to come over here to do all this. They still might have to, but I will try to avoid it because I don't think that's very fair, do you? Since you're talking about fairness."

"Can't the CIA deal with it?"

"No. I don't want them to deal with anything, they can fuck off. I'll deal with it. It's what I do."

"You arrange autopsies and funerals?"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" he shouts, and every word is through deep, quick and shuddering breaths. "I am so sick of you. It makes me sick just looking at you. You know nothing and you don't want to help, even if you could. You can't understand why I might feel really shit about this, because Stephen shouldn't have died, Light!"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't! ... Don't say that, please," he says, forcing himself to calm down abruptly. "I don't want to have to hit you. He shouldn't have died, you're not sorry, you shouldn't have turned up last night and you shouldn't be here now, and I hate you for it."

"I didn't want you to be alone."

"I wouldn't have been. I would have had B, but you fucked that up too."

"L, please. Please just sit down for a minute and have something to eat."

"Oh, and drink my cold tea?"

"I'll make you another one." Yes, I can do that.

"No, I think that you should help me do this," he says, striding towards me and grabbing my arm so roughly that my tea sloshes on his hand and floor. He seems to blame me for that too, judging by the annoyed sound he makes. Then he drags me to the wardrobe, practically pushing me inside. "There. Look at that. Look at his things, Light."

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking at. All I can see are L's suits on on one side of the gap he's made on the rail, but he pulls out a suit on its hanger.

"This is the suit he wore to his sister's wedding and his interview with the CIA. He couldn't get rid of it. He said that it was lucky." The cup is taken out of my hand and he places the suit over my arm. I clench my fist from the cheap feel of it which reeks of Stephen. "And this is the tie he wore when I first met him. Is it synthetic?"

"What do you expect me to do with these?" I ask.

"I want you to fold them and put them in that suitcase," he tells me angrily, but I don't move, so he carries on: "This is his hockey shirt. He never fucking wore it. He didn't even like hockey. Who likes hockey, really? Oh, a pair of jeans! How very common place. What was he thinking? You wouldn't be seen dead in these, would you. No, not you."

"Is this helping you at all, because I get it, ok? I don't need a story for everything."

"I think that you do. You see, this was a person, Light, and these are his things. They're all that's left of a life. He wasn't just some walking piece of meat that annoyed you. He was a good person and he had stories, just like you. He had a life, just like you. And he was important."

"I know."

"Do you? I don't think that you see others as being people. You see them as obstacles. Just things that can be shifted around or disposed of altogether unless they do exactly what you want, which is to keep out of your fucking way. I could have had him and no complications, no politics, no hiding, no wives and children, but I'm stuck with you. And I have to send these things back to his family in a box, like he's in a box. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes. He's dead, but I'm not sorry that he's dead. I'm sorry for _you_ that he's dead, because you're like this, but I didn't like him, no, and just because he's dead now will not make me like him. What kind of hypocrite would that make me?"

"You are a hypocrite. You're a spineless, self-absorbed hypocrite."

I can only stare at him, trying to understand this hatred towards me. He can't even look at me. He was a little like this when his father died, and I should have known that he'd take it out on me. It's because I'm here, I know, and I shouldn't take it personally, but I am. When his father died though, L just got drunk and volatile. He's not drunk now. I don't know why he's so upset over a man he discarded because he chose me instead. But I've had enough. I want to drop these clothes on the floor, but I don't know what he'd do if I did that, so I put them on the bed.

"Please accept my condolences," I say, putting my shirt on quickly.

"You can take your snide condolences and stuff them down your throat. You didn't know him. You didn't want to. You hated him as soon as you saw him and you wouldn't have thought twice about him if he wasn't with me. Because of that, you did this. Because he was in your way."

"I'm going," I tell him, and pick up my own jacket from the floor where L must have thrown it to make way for all this shit on the bed and the chair. "Cry wank over this on your own."

"You're a killer," he mumbles, looking at a horrible plaid shirt. Maybe he didn't want me to hear it, but I did.

"You don't know what you're saying. I'll check on you later."

"I can hardly wait."

"L?" I ask, stopped by an afterthought. "L, should I be worried?"

"Do you think that I'm going to kill myself? So I could be yet another person who died because of you?"

"Nobody... I don't know. I wouldn't put it past you. Just to spite me, you would."

"If my will to do what's right was stronger than the fuck I don't give, I would. All these deaths: it was because of you. You did all of this. You won't admit to it and I can't prove it, but it doesn't change the fact that the blame lies with you."

"Stop this."

"After today, I never want to see your face again."

"For fuck's sake, L!"

"Why did you kill him? Don't you feel sorry? Don't you feel anything at all? Because he died because of you. You're the curse."

"He's dead, L. Get the fuck over it. You didn't love him then, so don't start with all this shit now. He meant nothing to you."

"You have no idea what I thought of him."

"What? You suddenly love him? It takes this much to make you realise that you loved him? Shit, you're hard work. If that's what someone has to do to get something from you then God help us. I've seen this before with people. They manage to live perfectly well and happily without talking or seeing someone, but as soon as that someone dies then it's the end of the world."

"The last thing I said to him was 'Fuck off,'" he says, like it's poignant. Well, that's hilarious.

"So? He did. He fucked off permanently."

Because I was looking out of the window as I said it, I almost think that I've been hit in the face by some shrapnel from a bomb blast until I realise that L has punched me. I stagger backwards, but within seconds, I rush towards him, pushing him back. His legs hit the bedside table so that the lamp and junk on there sway and fall onto the floor. My arm is raised to hit him but I stop because his eyes are so wide and judgemental. And he's laughing.

"Oh, do it. Please do it. It's what you're really good at - being cruel. It's your talent, Light. Leave your fucking mark and do it well. Let everyone know that you've been here, as if this isn't enough. Leave me with nothing."

* * *

I went into work the same day, just late. I make a concerned, sympathetic but breezy inquiry every day to find out if he had turned up for work, and he always had, so I contented myself with that and wondered why I cared in the first place. But every day, I still cared. Kiyomi is snivelling next to me when I see him at Stephen's memorial. I don't think she that notices me leave her side. I don't think that anyone does.

I smell damp stone and even damper wood from the walls and floors. This place should be torn down but it's so very sacred that we must risk death and ignore its problems. I see him walking in his funeral best, too well put together to be unaffected. He is one of the grieving here, I realise, and a immature feeling of wonderment, anger and sadness mix in me as I follow him. He sees me, I know. He looks over his shoulder when I call him, but he rounds a corner and I lose sight of him. There's no sign of recognition and none of the hatred I last saw on his face before I left. He just looks like someone had shouted to a friend whose name they share.

When I turn the corner, almost immediately I'm thrown against the wall by my lapels and hear their starched interfacing quietly crunch within his white-knuckled hands. The wall is cool through my suit and I feel hazily angry for him treating me this way when I have nothing but good feeling and a small amount of empathy for him. He doesn't handle death well when it's on his doorstep. I can forgive a little unreasonable shit, but it's been nearly two weeks since that night at the hospital, Stephen's been shipped off back to Virginia in the cargo area of a jet liner, and we're at his memorial service. I want L to know that I came here only for him. On the face of it, I came for Kiyomi, but he should know that I came for him. I'm a buttress of fucking support and he's such an ungrateful bastard.

His lips spasm into a dangerous snarl. "Why are you here?"

"Because I'm so grief stricken, L. I'm desolate and life has no meaning anymore. Get the fuck..." I push his hands away from me and try to straighten the damage. "I wouldn't choose to be here," I admit, and he walks away like I'm not worth his time. "L, you're going to feel really stupid soon, and when you do, call me."

Miraculously, that stops him, and he looks down at the floor with his back to me. "I do feel stupid. That's your fault too."

"Look, I'm sorry that you're as upset as you are, but Stephen dying is nothing to do with us. It didn't happen because of us. He could have been anywhere in the world and it would have happened. These things fucking happen."

"To thirty-four-year-old's? He had a full medical a few months ago and he was in perfect health. He had a calcium something or other and his heart was fine, but he has a heart attack anyway?"

"The doctor obviously missed something."

"Ha! Just fuck off, Light."

And I do, like B did, like Stephen did. All of us did what L wanted us to do, at a loss at what to do instead. Am I supposed to hang around at a respectful distance and accept his abuse when he catches sight of me? Maybe I am supposed to, considering that he's decided to be a widower, but I won't put myself through that. He wouldn't appreciate it, anyway. I encourage Touta to ask him to the party my parents are holding in two weeks to celebrate (or show off) the fact that Sayu is pregnant. It only took two years and shitloads of IVF which I paid for before we all gave it up as a lost cause. But L refused because he's too busy, apparently. I take that as a slight against me.

So more days pass, and for a time I wonder whether it's all for the best. We'll just drift away from each other like this, right when we're on the cusp of fucking up my life for the sake of a pipe dream. I begin to think that I can accept the U-turn and be thankful for this merciful parting. I even slept with Kiyomi as a statement of intent at altering my life. Bland. I don't know what comfort is, but I thought that I'd give it a shot. I don't even know if I require it, but without L, I find life easy. It was a irreparable fissure. Truth be told, I've done more of use lately than I have over the last few months, and that's because L is not there. It's very easy to do, because my role is well established and simple in being Prime Minister, husband, father, son, brother, friend. There's not a cloud in sight and I want to watch everyone die around me and litter the ground. I'll leave them there to rot and step over their bodies. They're already dead.

* * *

"The most integral thing is to be detail orientated with a view of its relevance to the bigger picture. Really, being a visionary is what will bring success."

"That's excellent advice, Prime Minister. I feel quite honoured."

"You're welcome, Sasaki. You should go away and think about it for a while." Lumbering, stupid, tax avoiding twattrough.

"I will. I will. And, Prime Minster, how are you feeling?"

"Uh... very well, thank you. And you?"

"Good. That's really wonderful, I'm very pleased to hear it. It's just..." he says, leaning towards me suddenly to speak to me in hushed tones. "I heard about your... y'know. And I just wanted to tell you that it's ok. I understand that all you need is support, and we're here to support you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know."

"No, I really don't."

"Your... depression," he whispers. My what?

"Sasaki, I'm not depressed."

"I know, I know. What is depression really? It's just a chemical imbalance. You have a very high-stress job, and with a new baby too... oooh. I don't think that any of us could cope with it as well as you. You're a inspiration. I mean, your hair's great and everything."

"Yes, but I don't have a chemical imbalance. Who told you that?" I ask. I know the answer. Stress, new baby - he's just accepted and used L's script more or less word for word and I'm going to kick shit all over the building right now. "It doesn't matter."

* * *

"You're telling people that I'm depressed!?" I ask, barging into his office. L and Mihael both look up at me, and I swear that an almost imperceptible grin forms on L's face.

"Of course not." Fucking liar!

"You're spreading rumours about me? Sasaki has just told me that I have a chemical imbalance but they're all there for me. Explain that."

"Mihael, could you get the Prime Minister some coffee, please? And put some arsenic in it," he says, and looks back down at his desk like nothing unusual has happened at all. Mihael stands and is on his way out the door. I feel his eyes weighing me up and writing me off as a headcase who accuses his beloved boss of bizarre things in the afternoon.

"I don't want coffee, just get the fuck out," I tell Mihael as he leaves, and he scowls at me in reply. He's wearing fucking black nail polish at work! Does he think that he's Marilyn Manson moonlighting in the government quarter? I'll have him suspended if I can be bothered to remember later.

"How dare you speak to my staff like that, you cunt," L says as Mihael closes the door.

"I told you that I was not going out that way, L. I'm not doing it."

"You didn't say that."

"I said it was a terrible idea and that I wasn't for it. Or are you doing this because you knew that?"

"You haven't spoken to me for nearly two weeks."

"Errr, yeah! Because when I did at the memorial you told me to fuck off."

"Oh, right. So how long were you going to fuck off for? A couple of months? Couple of years? Or maybe an indefinite time?"

"You could have spoken to me but you made no effort to. You deliberately avoid me, you ignore me and you call me the fucking Prime Minister. What am I supposed to do here?"

"Turning up at the Stephen's memorial with your wife was such a low thing to do."

"I went there for you!"

"You went there to gloat and you know it."

"I didn't, actually, but never mind. So, I was supposed to leave you alone for an undisclosed amount of time and put up with you calling me a murderer?"

"You are a murderer."

"You know what, L? Forget it. Just stop these rumours right now. I told you what I'm going to do."

"I can't let you resign," he mutters into his computer screen, so I walk over and turn his computer off at the wall. The look of outrage on his face is hysterical. "Oh my God, you did not just do that."

"I thought that you were supporting me."

"I am. I'm supporting you, not your job. The stress of your job and the baby, it's all become too much for you. Complete nervous collapse. 'Fuck, why didn't I think of it before?' I thought. So I'm giving you a push."

"Off a the top of a very tall building, yes. I'm not having a nervous breakdown and I'm not going to pretend that I am."

"Come on, you're practically there already."

"This is not up for discussion, this is the answer: No. And you're going to backpeddle this all the way to Argentina and back."

"No, I refuse. Anyway, it's done. By tomorrow, everyone in the building will be sending you get well cards. Here."

He holds out a letter for me to read, but won't let me take it, so I have to read it like it's on a noticeboard instead. Turns out that it's a letter from some psychiatrist who says that I'm suffering from severe situational anxiety and depression, and at his insistence, I'm unable to work while I'm under medical care. What the fuck is this? I try to take the letter, because it causes me great anxiety in itself, but L folds it and puts it back in his pocket.

"I've never even met him," I say.

"It wasn't necessary for you to meet him."

"Give me that."

"No."

"L, give me that fucking letter!"

He refuses again, so I end up trying to grapple it from him.

"You... shit!" he exclaims in the vocal equivalent of a basset hound's bark as he unbalances and I pin him on the floor while the wheels of the overturned chair spin near his head. I suspect that this is going to have to get really nasty, but he obviously realises that I've bested him, because he's not putting up much of a fight. His big eyes just stare at me, finding this funny or a turn on, and he pulls the letter from his pocket.

"Ok, you can have it. It's only a copy, anyway," he grumbles smugly, and offers it to me. After snatching it from his fingers and walking to the window, leaving him lying on the floor, I have to read it again and try to figure out all the malpractice laws this contravenes. This could have murdered me. I have to keep looking at the letter to believe that a qualified psychiatrist has actually been convinced by L to write a note like this for the Prime Minister, let alone a man he's never met.

"God!" I breathe out. "Has anyone seen this? What were you going to do with it?"

"No one's seen it yet. I was going to send it to HR, the CO and the press. I was going to send it to whoever would read it," he says. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him prop himself up, but I can't bear to look at him.

"I could have you sacked for this," I tell him, and he laughs behind me. "No, I mean it. Get rid of this. You have to about-face the hell out of what you've told people, because I don't want to hear this mentioned again by anyone. Understand?"

"Come home with me now."

"No. You're having a fucking laugh!"

"I don't want to talk, I just want you there. I'll meet you anywhere."

"Well, I don't want to be near you. Clean this shit up or it's over. I'll give you one day."

"Light, I'm -" but I shut the door behind me before I let him finish.

* * *

Thing is, Kiyomi seems to think that one time, when I'd do anything to have a bit of peace and quiet and to shut her the fuck up, leads to others. Misa was the same, only Kiyomi doesn't trail me like a hungry cat and cry when I don't feed her. I stay at the office later and later. It's good to occupy yourself and be productive. Having sex is not productive - it's a past time for people who have nothing better to do, and I don't have time for that. I'm not interested and I _can_ think of better things to do.

When she does catch me, it's always in the hallway outside my room. For four nights in succession I've managed to dodge her, but not today. Today she's pensive and waiting for me in her silk dressing gown, so she means business. She's arranged it so it's practically open to her navel in a deep V, and she has to cover her chest conservatively with crossed arms until I arrive, in case someone else sees her and rumours spread that she's a nymphomaniac. I'm very tempted to walk right past her and shut the door in her face before she says anything, but she's blocking the door. I'm a lodger being harassed by an amorous landlady. I've had to switch my phone off to avoid L's messages and calls, because now he's decided that he misses me or something. All these fucking people!

"I've had a really shitty day, Kiyomi."

"I'm sorry that you had a bad day. Anything wrong?" she asks. I don't reply, which seems to cover all bases for a question I shouldn't have to answer. But it makes her irritable, probably because she knows that I'm trying to avoid her and come with a prepared, however true, excuse. "I was starting to think that you weren't going to come back tonight."

"I have to be here, don't I."

"Light," she sighs, shaking her head. "Light, I'm sorry. I thought that we were ok, what happened? What have I done wrong?"

God, you have sex one time in months and apparently you're the happiest couple in the world. I shouldn't be surprised that she's so stupid with things like this. She's just a woman, after all.

"Nothing."

"We haven't really talked since before Kira was born."

"We've talked."

"No, we haven't. Are you having an affair or were you just saying that?"

"You decided that I was and I don't like to argue," I say, shrugging my shoulders and looking anywhere apart from at her.

"I didn't decide anything. Well, if you are... if you have been, I forgive you," she tells me. Oh, how condescending of her. Somehow, this reminds me of the time when she handed me her empty water bottle to put in the bin which was right next to her. I rub my nose, but she was obviously expecting a different reaction. Her dressing gown is wasted on me and she knows it. "Is it serious? You wouldn't let it come between us, would you?"

"Who do you think that I'm having an affair with, Kiyomi?"

"I don't know... I miss you, Light. I'm all alone here. I have no one to talk to."

I nod my head and close my eyes. I can't avoid her without an argument, and she's wearing slippers with sharp heels. "Ok. I get it. You better come in then, before you catch pneumonia in that thing," I say, opening my door.

"What do you get?"

"Kiyomi, do you want a fuck or not? I have to be at the office by seven."

To emphasise how restrictive my schedule is and how I'd much rather be asleep, I switch on the light in my room and see that my dry cleaned suits have been returned to me. There they are, lying on my bed. My heart swells. And when I turn back to Kiyomi, she looks stunned, perhaps by my phrasing. Perhaps because she imagined this sort of thing to not be spoken of directly, but heralded by chocolates and flowers and me climbing through her bedroom window on a stormy night, dressed as a samurai from the Revolution.

"I..." she starts, but pauses self-consciously as a maid walks past, bowing to us apologetically. "I wasn't asking for that. I'm not that desperate. If I was, I'd rather ask anyone else than you. I was voted -"

"Number one on the Mothers I'd Like to Fuck list in Yay! magazine. Yeah, I know. Congratulations, quite an achievement."

"What I'm saying is that I could have my pick of any man."

"I suggest that you should go and pick them then. Goodnight."

"Do you? Do you really want me to do that? Because I will."

"You're the one who makes the decisions. I'm just here."

"Don't make it sound like that. Forget about it," she says, and starts to walk away. That was easier than I had imagined.

"Ok."

"No, wait," she says quietly. I watch her turn around with her eyes staring at my feet. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I want to. With you."

Oh, how the mighty fall. God, I'm positive that that must have killed her. It's quite attractive, really, but she never used to be this way. I also see, through her, what an idiot I've been over L, because I must have acted a lot like this. It's sad, it's wretched, but it's also very clever of her, because even though she doesn't know about L being a bastard who lies and punches and ignores and leaves when he says that he won't and denies me of himself, she must know that I won't treat her like that. I'm a better person now from my stupid suffering with no apparent purpose, and she, of all people, is the one who might benefit from it.

"Do you feel humiliated?" I ask.

"Yes."

"It's not nice, is it? To beg. To feel like you're completely in someone else's hands. That you're nothing."

"No, it's not nice. It hurts. Why are you making me do it if you know how cruel it is?"

_It's what you're really good at - being cruel. It's your talent, Light._

"I'm not cruel."

"Why do you treat me like this? What have I done wrong?"

"You've done nothing wrong. You never have."

"The scar's practically healed now, didn't you see? And the doctor said that it would be ok. Are you disgusted by me? I'm still the same, you know. I just did what you wanted me to do."

"I know."

"Then why?! I never would have had Kira if I'd that you'd be like this!"

"It's not because of Kira. We can't talk in the hallway," I say, and push the door open wider. "Are you coming in?"

"Don't do it because you feel sorry for me. Don't do that to me."

"I wouldn't."

"But you do feel sorry for me. You're only doing this to keep me quiet and make me think that everything's ok when it's not."

"No."

"I thought that you loved me once. I felt bad about it, because I didn't. I didn't love you. I just wanted to be the Prime Minister's wife and I knew that you _would_ be Prime Minister one day."

"Yes, I knew that," I sigh. I'm not surprised. I knew it and I didn't mind, but now, when I feel as used and mistreated as I do, I could have done without hearing it. Why can't I just not care about this shit?

"But I do now," she says.

"You do what?"

"I love you."

No. I don't want to believe it but I know it's true. She sounds like L when he told me that he loved me in my office after he fucked me and fucked me up outside The Blue Note, when he was ashamed of it and he'd rather that he didn't love me. I don't understand how much feeling people can put into those three words, like how they put so much importance into it. And I feel empty, not angry, like when I first realised that L loved me years ago when he was hassling me to have a health check. I don't know what I did to make people love me. I presumed that it was my looks, but maybe not. Her eyes dart up to mine for only a second, embarrassed. I've never seen her be so awkward around me or anyone else. I've destroyed you, my queen. I know what that's like.

"I'm sorry," I tell her.

"You're sorry?"

"I didn't know."

"You... you thought that I didn't care? I do, Light. I do."

She's got it all wrong, but I'm not about to correct her. She thinks that I've been looking for whores because I thought that she didn't love me, when I knew that she didn't and that was perfect as far as I was concerned. But now she does love me and I still don't give a shit, I'm just sorry for her and for the complication. She takes hold of my hand, and for the first time in our history I don't mind her touching me, because it's so strange to find some small solace from an unexpected source when I thought all of that hinged on L. She hangs from my neck when she kisses me because she's so small, and I'd forgotten how easy to crush she'd be, or it never entered my mind to notice her before now in any real way. She was an ornament on a shelf just for show, but now I see her. I turn her over in my hands and admire the fine details: my incestuous twin in all but depth of feeling.

I go inside the room to turn on a lamp and pick up the ironed flat versions of me in their plastic coats from the bed. She follows me inside as far as the doorway, and I watch her over my shoulder, wondering what she's waiting for. My whole life, I've been blackmailed by obligation and what was expected of me, and this is no different. She switches the light off and shuts the door. She never knows or sees the hatred in me for every living thing, especially now. I'm an actor.

* * *

In the morning, I sit up suddenly on the edge of the bed, and Kiyomi strokes my back with her featherlight fingers. The sun rises early, and I like the quietness of this time of day. I like the beginning and the end of a day, nothing else. It's the only time I find any beauty in the hours.

A blade of sunlight cuts through a gap in the curtain and across the floor, and I think of how long the light from that nuclear plasma took to reach me. I'm not really looking at it because there's nothing there to see, until some movement catches my attention. A shaded sphere rolls towards me through the light, and the apple finally rests, red and polished, between my feet.

I will not see L today.

* * *

It's Sayu and Touta's party tonight, held at my parents' house because there's more space, and I'm waiting outside the bathroom for the long pisser inside to finish. I used this bathroom for eighteen years and always ended up waiting for Sayu then - God knows what she was doing in there – and now I'm waiting for someone else. Sometimes I feel like my life is spent waiting.

When I finally am allowed inside my own bathroom, I check the basin to see if they washed their hands, and then take a piss myself. It's moments like this when, like it's replacing the waste that's leaving me, my head fills with completely useless thoughts running through a list in my mind of all the incidental things I must do aside from work. It's then when I see, quite calmly, how pointless my life is. There are too many restrictions and I don't have the power to change anything I want to change. I'm a melancholy person, L says, if I allow myself to think too much. My life is weighed down by essential routine. Piss, shit, shower, get dressed, eat, brush my teeth, floss, mouthwash, go to work, drink 2 litres of water a day, piss it away, eat, brush my teeth, work, exercise, shower, eat, keep up to date with worldwide current affairs, have an opinion, say goodnight to my wife and son, brush my teeth, go to sleep. Right now, I'm washing my hands. The noise from the tap must mask the sound of the door opening, because someone starts kissing the side of my neck and I never heard them come in. The water is still gushing as I watch L in the mirror as he says: "I'm sorry," into my neck and then watches me in the mirror in turn, leaning his face on my shoulder. We make a gorgeous pairing, I think. We watch each other for too long, really.

"How did you get in?" I ask. "I locked the door." I'm knocked into stillness and the anger is instantly killed by shock on the battlefield. He's such a clever man. No one else can shock me just by coming into a room.

"That credit card trick does actually work, you know. Slide and push. It's a five second job. Scary, isn't it?"

"It could have been anyone in here."

"Then I would have had some explaining to do, wouldn't I?" he smiles. "No, I saw you go in. I was sitting on your parents' bed, actually, with the door wide open. I'm surprised that you didn't notice."

"Well, you can go right out again."

"Now, Light. I broke into a locked room for you and I don't do that for everyone. Only you and locked-in toddlers in distress, and that's never happened. I'm not positive that I would do it if it did happen. I even waited until you'd stopped pissing. Show some appreciation for my effort and respect for you."

"No."

"I said that I was sorry. How long are you going to be like this?" he mumbles sulkily, like a child who's been unfairly disciplined. I could ask him the same question. He's been a complete shit since Stephen died. No, before then. He either loves me or hates me and there isn't an in between.

"You will never dictate what I do with my life again and you will not sabotage me," I tell him. But God, I don't sound like I mean it. I sound so easily won over, it disgusts me.

He leans against the wall, eyes lowered as his fingers drift down my arm and grip my hand. I don't believe a second of it.

"I think... that we should fuck," he says, raising his eyes unashamedly for the shock factor.

"Now?"

"Problem?" he asks, eyebrows lifting. I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed as I open the medicine cupboard over the sink, so I'm not as ashamed as I'd like to think I am. There's nothing inside but cough medicine and a first aid kit.

"Shit."

"We can do other things," he suggests. Kiyomi said that. Kiyomi says that all the time.

"No."

He sighs at my despondency when faced with a cupboard which is mercifully free from lubricants, considering that it's my parent's cupboard.

"Here, you idiot," he says, reached over my shoulder and handing me some pot of something which I hope isn't Vicks Vaporub. "What do you expect to find in there when Soichiro Yagami is your father? Dildos, butt plugs and lube that smells of strawberries? That'd put you right off. Improvise. It's always penetration with you, isn't it. What would Mummy and Daddy say?"

"But I haven't got any -"

"Well, I'm clean, you're clean, let's just do it."

He walks out of the bathroom, leaving the door open like he owns the place, and I follow him after checking the hallway. By then, he's opened Sayu's old bedroom door and scans the pink and fluffy horror of a room.

"Oh, Light, I love your old bedroom. Those Hideki Ryuuga posters are very decorative."

"It's Sayu's room, and you know it."

"No, really?" he laughs. "I thought that he was dead. He's gay as a picnic basket, you know. One of my lawyers had him," he tells me before closing the door. "There's always your parents' room. I know where that one is and there's no Hideki in there. I presume that you didn't have a bedroom and that you just hung upside down from the ceiling in the attic."

I've had enough of his cocksure fucking smugness and drag him inside my old room, kissing him before the door is even shut. My hands pull at his jacket, and it's less of a kiss than a connection. I don't know what it is, but he's there and that's all that matters to me right now. I'm quieted by his presence somehow, and just want him to stay there and I'll do whatever I have to do to make him stay. But he never stays long. Something happens and someone dies and he disappears for days or weeks or months because of his ludicrous reaction, which is to run away and hide within himself or blame someone, and that someone is usually me.

Suddenly I'm pushed against the door, face first. My cheek is pressed against it like I'm being mugged while he kisses and bites my neck with the familiar blood thirst, and I unnervingly feel myself become who I was before. I don't care, it doesn't mean anything, it's just something for him and he can take it because I couldn't get a shit. I get what I want and he gets what he wants and somewhere, across some distance, we'll both be happy. I could think about the people downstairs, and maybe they'll start singing Happy Birthday to Sayu and I'll laugh and have to cover my mouth to keep the noise down. The door shakes a little as I'm shoved unceremoniously against it, pummelling the wind out of me in stunted breaths. But with my ear against the door, I'm in the best position to hear anyone outside, and I do hear someone. I hear Sayu laugh with another woman, and a few seconds later, soft footsteps. The door handle turns, but I lock it just in time.

"Light? Are you in there?" she asks through the wood. It's just like old times, although I was always at my desk. I was never doing anything which could be considered wrong by others, apart from maybe my thoughts, but no one could or ever would know what has been in my head. "Light?" her voice rings through the gaps around the doorframe, sliding through the lock and the fibres of the door itself. All the confusion in it, the sadness and longing for a brother who wasn't ever there. I tense from L's hands and fingers and it reminds me of other people and other times when I'd hate this. When men and women grabbed at me with fat hands like I was available at a slashed price because of limited stock. My forehead and hair drags against the warmed wood while I close my eyes and sweat while my sister stands outside. Our heads must be nearly level, like twins separated by a wooden wall in a womb of a house. I've been stripped by now. I feel like a badly treated prisoner of war and it makes me laugh, how funny it is. Me in my childhood bedroom about to get fucked against the door I while my little sister stands outside, bleating my name. I breathe out a laugh as I struggle vainly, which Sayu must hear because she starts calling me again, but I'm pulled away and marched backwards, and I don't hear Sayu again.

I'd lie on this bed for what must have amounted to weeks as a kid, waiting for something. Now I'm motionless between L's thighs and looking up at his black eyes, his face coloured a pale blue from the dim streetlight outside, because that's all the impression it can make on the indigo dye of twilight. I sling my legs either side of him while his arms hook around my hips and thighs as I stiffen and swell in his mouth. He looks like he's made of glazed porcelain to me, or silk on a human frame, and I reach the tips of my fingers towards him to touch his face. I find him interesting and strange, focusing on enjoying me, or trying to make me enjoy this. And my touch when he doesn't want tenderness must remind him that I'm not a doll, because he looks at me, surprised somehow. He bows his head and sits back on his haunches slowly, misty and defeated in this dark room. I should apologise for not paying attention to him and for not acting correctly, but all I can think of is how he looks now; the crown of his head, the angles of his downcast face and the shard of hair sticking to his temple. I sit up to kiss it, pressing it there and holding onto him like I was thankful for this attempt at carnality. I'm not, but it's what people do, isn't it? I never understood this and I don't think that I ever will now. It means very little to me, but if it takes this to have him there, I'm not repulsed enough by it to care.

Inflamed by this, maybe by anger towards me, he turns me onto my front suddenly and makes me kneel while pushing my head into the bed. My anticipation and lack of power sends shudders through me. I am so fucked up. He strikes me at an angle, and it hurts in an intense, pressured way while he pushes at me in repeated hammerings and slidings of increasing ferocity towards my spine like he's at some kind of weird gym. This _is_ his version of going to the gym, I think, because he's so calm and lazy in his movements normally. I feel the sweat form, run and drip from my jaw like tears, sinking onto the pillow while I accept it, before a divine stab of pain tears through me and makes me rigid. I don't scream - I wouldn't, ever, not from pain, but I try to pull myself away, clambering and dragging myself using sheets and the headboard as an anchor. It's useless to try. His hand holds me down and my throat stretches, raised on the angle of rumpled pillows. A mix of fear and possession holds me as he holds me, and it seems to go on forever. I can't escape it, I can only try to track his progress until it's over and wait for the vibration from him, throbbing and lunging. And then it is over, and all I can hear his laboured breathing and my own, filling the silence of the room.

He withdraws from me, gets off the bed, and by the time I turn around to lie sprawled on my back instead in a daze of the burnout, he's standing up with his back to me, fastening his trousers. I know that he feels like being in here is another door of my mind and history being opened to him to plunder as he takes in my room and use what he finds to fill in the blanks of the collage he has of me. Just chunks he's collected over years, but what I've allowed him has been cleanly sliced with knives into a jigsaw. This room is a window to me before money and a career and suits. Me in school uniforms, waiting, building and sleeping in a library of no content. I stare at his back with heavy eyes. Each breath still is a ravaging, burning release, and as I watch him, I love everything about him so much that it overwhelms me. It burns me more than sex burns my lungs.

"I still love you."

He looks back at me over his shoulder and a small smile tightens the skin of his jaw sleekly, like he only feels that it's polite to acknowledge me.

"Yeah... So, this is your room. Did you bring boys up here?" he asks easily, looking at my bare walls and bookshelves. His voice is low and totalitarian and doesn't even sound like him. I pause to recover but I can't hide my shuddering, uneven breathing.

"No."

"Girls?"

"No."

"Well, it's taken you thirty-two years, but you did it," he says, turning to face me. He looks no different, only a thin slick of shine on his cheekbones from his exertion while I'm naked, coated in sweat as greasy and slippery as melted butter. "How do you feel, Light?"

"Ha!" I wheeze out, and the shadows on his face convulse with distaste as he looks at me.

"Didn't you have any posters? Did you take them down?"

"I never had have any. I had a map of the world."

"There's no personality here. No pictures, nothing. It's like a hospital room for a terminally-ill law student with no friends."

"I guess that's what it was."

"No politics in here. When did that fuck you up the arse?" he asks, obviously not expecting an answer, because he walks around the room leisurely like it's a museum exhibit. "Is this hoover supposed to be here?"

"Yeah, it was mine."

"Self-contained and a tidy little boy. And they kept it that way it was after you left. That's interesting. My father made my room into a guest bedroom after I left. He never had any guests."

"It's a room. I studied and slept here."

"That's not all it is, is it? Not to your parents. This is all they have left of you now. That's why they've kept it like a shrine to you. I used to fuck in mine. My father had to purge it of every trace of me," he smiles.

"I couldn't do that in my parents' house."

"Light, news for you: you just did."

"Light? Are you up there?" Sayu's voice carries up the stairs.

"I'll be down in a minute," I shout back. "God, it's like I never left." I'm tired by the pestering and being forced to reply. L is stalking around my room, picking up objects which all have a function, because there was never anything in here which didn't have a purpose. I watch him hover over things, picking up what interests him, like a bird of prey picking off small mammals from the ground, then the door handle rocks and we both look at it.

"Light?" Sayu calls, almost begging through the door.

"I'll be there in a minute, I said!"

"Is Kiyomi with you?" she whines. I look at L, who smirks thinly before closing the lid of an empty box in his hands. "Light?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Sorry," she says weakly, and I hear her pad away.

"What if she finds Kiyomi?" L asks as he pulls a book off the shelf over my desk.

"Then I suppose that I was with someone else, wasn't I?" I answer, and stand, picking my clothes up from a messy pile on the floor near the door.

"Can I borrow this?" He's reading one of my old law books. It wasn't required reading, but it was recommended. It's like the years roll away and I remember all this useless shit like it's still as important and relevant to my life as it was. I remember where I bought it, I remember reading it in fits and starts, but I don't remember what I read at all.

"You can have it. Why? I thought you knew all about the law."

"I haven't read this one. _Lies and the Law_," he laughs.

"It could have been written for you. Are you done then?" I ask. I button up my shirt in the mirror and half-watch him open the drawers of my desk behind me. One of them won't open. Naturally, this is the best possible thing he could hope to find. "You should go now."

"What's in here?"

"Nothing," I say. As I wrap and fold my tie around my neck, I see him fumble around my desk and straighten a paperclip before he attacks the lock with it. "You never believe me. The key's on the desk."

"And spoil my fun? I haven't done this since Lawliet the Elder died. I found porn in his desk, like, Victorian porn, it was funny. I don't understand the fuss about women."

"That's because you're so very gay."

He ignores me as he concentrates on breaking into my desk. He wins. "Oh!" he exclaims in surprise as it clicks open. "Oh." There is nothing inside.

"Told you."

"Nothing stuck to the top?" he asks, running his hand inside and under the drawer. "No secret compartments?"

"No, nothing. Did you think I'd leave things in there for my parents to find?"

"Tell me your secrets, Yagami-kun," he says darkly, cross-legged at my desk.

"I don't have any left."

"Don't say that. Well, look at you. No one would suspect. I'll follow you downstairs in a minute."

"Ok," I say, uninterested. "I mean it, by the way. No more fucking around with my life. Have you backtracked?"

"Mmm. I got you confused with someone else. They seemed disappointed, but you shouldn't hear of it anymore. Consider it dead."

"Good... Are we ok now?"

"No, I don't think so," he says, looking into the space where my computer used to be. "But it'll do for the time being. I'll call you tomorrow."

And I leave him there. I go downstairs and glide unnoticed right into the room full of people until Sayu stands beside me. We exchange bored smiles.

"And what were you up to, big brother? You've made up with Kiyomi then?"

"We're fine, Sayu," Kiyomi's voice says, and wraps her arms around my waist from behind me. Sayu blushes, I catch it, and smile to myself. Sometimes I'm impressed by how I fool everyone, but they're just so painfully easy to fool that I can't really take much credit for ingenuity.

Matsuda and L join us at the same time, only L was caught by Naomi and Mikami for second beforehand. He's treated with kid gloves by Naomi, who obviously thinks that he's a very brave soldier for taking time out of his mourning.

"Hey, Lawliet! I didn't see you arrive," Touta says happily.

"And that's why you'd be a shit policeman, Matsuda. Congratulations, by the way. Another baby. More lives ruined."

"Funny thing is, we spent all that money on IVF and then as soon as we stopped -"

"Yes, that's enough information, thanks. Light paid for it, didn't he?"

"Well... yeah. How did you know?"

"I don't know, you must have mentioned it. How charitable of him."

"Light and I didn't have to try for very long," Kiyomi says smugly.

"Are you comparing potency, Kiyomi?" L asks, vaguely amused. Kiyomi's vaguely amused. I'm vaguely amused.

"It wasn't my fault," Touta says defensively. "It was Sayu's."

"Hey!" she shouts.

"It was no one's fault," I say, putting an end to this nonsense. Kiyomi's not content to let it go though and whispers in my ear that maybe they've been sticking it in the wrong place all this time. I laugh.

"What?" Sayu asks.

"Nothing. Kiyomi's being stupid."

"I'm being stupid, Sayu," Kiyomi agrees, and we fall into silence as my father starts speaking to the room, flanked by my mother, who looks sickeningly self-conscious, but it's ok because Dad speaks for both of them.

"Thank you for coming to mark this day with us. For this news to come so soon after the birth of our first grandchild has made the last year one of the happiest of our lives. Seeing your children be so successful in life and love is all you ever hope for as a parent. I'm very glad that my son, Light, and his wife, Kiyomi, have been able to join us this evening," he smiles at me when he notices me, and I lift my hand to everyone who took the opportunity to turn around and stare at me. Yes, I'm here. Now piss off. "Our family has been blessed. I'd just like to say how proud Sachiko and I are of both of our children. This is just the ultimate joy for us: to see them both happy."

I suppose that that's his speech then, because everyone starts clapping. But, wait! I got perfect grades and became Prime Minister. Sayu has only managed to get married and get up the duff. This equal praise thing regardless of what we've achieved in our lives is very unfair. I'm practically supporting this whole fucking family and I'm running the country. I'm drowning in dependants. I am displeased that this isn't publicly acknowledged so I can downplay it.

"To life and love," my mother says, and everyone raises their glasses and repeats it after her. God's sake.

"Life and love. Like those two things go side by side, hand in hand. The way it seems to me, you can either live or you can love," L, my resident truth teller, mutters as he raises his glass. I glare at him until he lowers it again.

"He talks a lot, your father." Kiyomi tells me.

"A heart attack would be less painful," I say and drink my wine until she nudges me with her elbow and glances pointedly at L. Oh, no. No one must speak of heart attacks in a humorous way while L's around. We just shouldn't mention heart attacks and certain dead CIA agents, because obviously L is so distressed by his loss that he fucked me raw twenty minutes ago. "Sorry," I grumble.

"Lawliet, are you with anyone?" Touta asks, compounding the awkwardness. "'Cos there's this man who's just started in my department and I think he's gay."

"What makes you think that?"

"He... His hair mostly."

"Right."

"I thought that you'd like to meet him."

"Sure, yeah, sounds great. It's not like I'm picky or anything. Very kind of you to think of me. Could you pass me that?" L asks him cheerfully, pointing at some magazines on the table next to Touta.

"This?" Touta says confusedly holding up a magazine.

"No, that one. The thicker one," L replies, takes it from Touta and swats him over the head with it. I nearly choke on my wine. "Thank you. I'm going. I have to learn about lies and law."

"Enjoy that," I laugh.

"But you just got here. Stay a bit longer," Kiyomi tells him.

"I came, I saw, I conquered. Goodnight. And congratulations again, Matsuda. You're a nice man, you're just a bit stupid. Congratulations, Sayu. I still don't really have an opinion on you, but I like your brother, so congratulations. Kiyomi," he says, and kisses her cheek quickly before moving on to me. I hold out my hand to shake his, but that's not happening. "Light," he whispers, kisses my cheek, smiles and leaves. The fucker.

"Did he just kiss you?" Touta asks, still rubbing his head.

"Yes, he did."

"Gays," Kiyomi tuts to herself. "Light's very handsome, it happens all the time."

"With all the gays?"

"People try to kiss him a lot. Strangers, voters, MPs... It's good that I'm not the jealous type. There's no such thing as respect for personal space when you're a personality."

"I'm the Prime Minister, Kiyomi," I remind her.

"But you're still a personality. You belong to everyone."

"God, Dad can really talk, can't he?" Sayu sighs. He's still giving some kind of director's cut version of his speech, but only the people closest to him are polite enough to listen.

"Sayu. Bio oil. Buy it," Kiyomi tells her firmly. Well, that was random.

"What?"

"Just buy it. It's my gift of wisdom to you. Congratulations, darling. Our children can grow up together. Light and I have a present for you and Touta."

She looks at me and I pull out the slightly crumpled envelope from my pocket to hand to Sayu. I forgot all about it, what with the sex and all.

"OH MY GOD, LIGHT! KIYOMI!" she screams. It's money. It's Sayu's favourite thing in the world. People turn around to see what the hell has happened, but I'm pretty sure that they've been keeping one eye on me anyway. Even my relatives look at me now like I'm a god who's descended from Mount Olympus.

"My advice is to put it into a high-interest account and leave it there," Kiyomi tells her, and Sayu's eyes dart between her and me, astounded by the number of noughts on the cheque, I guess. I don't know, I just signed a blank cheque and left the amount to Kiyomi. She was obviously feeling generous. It's amazing what the occasional fuck can do to her temperament.

"Light, you didn't need to do this," Sayu gasps. Well, I know that. She hands the cheque to Touta, who also gasps and stares at me. Oh, Touta.

"It's nothing, really," I say to their shocked faces, and then walk away. My glass is empty.

"Light?" Sayu calls after me before I get very far. She hesitates before she hugs me, and I can smell her sickly sweet, pink and cheap perfume rising from her. Her gratitude is pitiful, but somewhere far away I feel some fondness for her, even if it's just a bond of blood and years spent in the same house. She's a good person, she doesn't doesn't try very hard. I put my hand on her head before I hold her away from me at arms length. I'm glad that L wasn't here to see this.

"You're my sister, Sayu. It's nothing."

* * *

L calls me the next day, like he said, and I answer the phone as horrifically quickly as if he'd simply been in a country with bad reception for weeks. Sad. As if I can't think of anything better to do than talk to him. The line crackles, and I imagine him striding through departments.

"Is this a good time?" he asks.

"As good as any."

"I'll keep it quick. Can you come over to mine later?"

"Today?"

"Tonight. Whenever."

"I could. I'll shift a few things around."

"Will you?" he asks. He sounds moody and I'm reluctant to see him if he's in that frame of mind. I'm the closest thing to him now - I'm the only thing he has now – and, excellent victory as that it, it also means that I'm dealt his full mountain of shit when he's irritable. Stephen hasn't been spoken of yet, and I'm sure that it'll come. It has to, because L needs to apologise to me properly for calling me a murderer. If he thinks that but he still wants me around and wants to fuck me, what does that make him? It makes him worse than me, or what he thinks I am. "Light? Will you?"

"I guess so."

"Good. Ok, I'll see you then."

"Are you just going to shout at me again?" I blurt out before he ends the call, because I sense some arguing in the pipeline. "Because I'd rather not bother if you are. You could do that now, if that's what you're planning, and save me the petrol."

He's so silent that I hear his footsteps clipping on tiles in an echoey space, and a thought of his position in the Kantei occurs to me. I walk to the window and, sure enough, he was in the lobby, because I see him leave the building in the direction of the car park. It's twenty-past two, where's he going?

"No, I'm not going to shout at you. It's about business," he says.

"Penber? You've found something?"

"God, I hope that no one's bugged your phone. Use your head, Light," he grumbles, and ends the call. The phone beeps in my hand as I watch him from my window until he disappears from view. I carry him with me always like a languid ghost who won't leave me. Hopelessly flawed to perfection, just for me. And he always delivers.

* * *

A couple of hours later, at the House, Watari wanted to speak to me urgently. He stood on the sidelines while Mikami and I were talking, our voices bouncing off the marble tiles and making him seem all the more of a lonely, exiled figure, and we kept talking because we knew that he was waiting. For some reason, we want him to suffer for being old and useless and frightened by how out of his depth he is. I want him to know that he's not of my chosen few, who I make a point of being casual with in public so that others notice the difference and aspire to impress me enough so that they too are rewarded with my friendship. Or maybe I _am_ just cruel, after all. I do feel some shaking thrill from putting him through it. With Watari and everyone else, my eyes glaze over, my voice lowers, my back is straight as a ruler. Personally, I want him to know that I don't value him at all and he's of no use to me; he just fills a role in the cabinet office.

Whatever his problem is, apparently it's far too sensitive to be discussed anywhere else, or so he insinuates. I think that he's losing his mind. Maybe he wants to retire? So, after Mikami leaves to go back to the Kantei, looking suspicious of Watari, I offer a lift to the old man so that we can discuss matters in the car, and then I'll go to L's. It'll work out perfectly.

I look out the window for the most part while Watari talks, because he's taking his time getting to the point. I've gathered that it's to do with the 'curse', and I've had enough of that, but people are talking, apparently, and they're frightened. I think of Stephen in his coffin. He mustn't have seen it coming, or he probably would have built his coffin himself. It's a simple joy to imagine someone punished and dead. Of course, I couldn't tell L that I think that. It's a tragic loss. Poor Stephen, asleep forever in a box underground somewhere in Virginia. Wiped off the face of the earth; it's beautiful. I tell my driver to drive faster.

We round a corner just where the land opens up briefly to an open space on one side, the sky illuminating and catching each shard of grass on the run up to the Kantei. It all looks very expensive, and so do I, because my reflection in the window stares back at me.

"Watari, you don't really believe in the curse, do you?"

"It is real."

"Oh, Watari," I sigh.

"But it's not supernatural. It can't be."

"I never thought that it was supernatural. Are you feeling ok? You think that someone is murdering people in my government indiscriminately?"

"No, not indiscriminately. They're targeting the cabinet office."

"It may seem that way to you, but L thinks that it killed his... friend."

"Who? You mean, his partner?"

"He wasn't his partner."

"Oh. He told me that he was."

"When?"

"I met him at your Christmas party and he said that he was Lawliet's partner. It's very sad. He was a very nice young man."

"He was a very nice young corpse."

"Pardon?"

"I was agreeing with you, Watari. Fact is, the curse which isn't a curse because I don't believe in curses, isn't just targeting politicians now. Anyone who dies within a 100 miles radius of the House or has stood behind a politician in a queue for the carwash sometime in the last five years dies because of the curse, that's basically what the press are saying. It's getting out of control and we have to put a stop to it."

"To the curse?"

"To the rumours. To the press. There is no curse," I say dismissively. I should get it tattooed on my chest.

"Hmm. So Lawliet believes in the curse then? He thinks it killed his partner?"

"He wasn't his partner, he was an acquaintance."

"Even so, Lawliet thinks that he died because of the curse?"

"Yes, but he was upset and he drinks too much."

"For what reason would he think that though?" he asks. Well, he believes that _I_ did it out of hatred and jealousy.

"The man was a CIA agent looking into the death of Senator Wedy."

"And he was Lawliet's partner as well?"

"NO!" I say too loudly, but I quickly recover. "No. He infiltrated."

"I had no idea."

"The CIA suspected that Mikami assassinated her, it's really stupid, can you believe it?. Well, there you are. I was thinking, actually, that we could possibly spin this to a good cause. If we're going down the supernatural route, why not tie the opposition to it so that _they_ become the curse? The whole party is made up of cursed murderers - can't you just imagine how the press will love that one? A secret cult summoning demons, blood on the walls, pentagrams, that sort of thing. Anyway, is that all you want to speak to me about? I have another appointment when I get to the Kantei."

"Prime Minister, do you think that they're behind it."

"I don't believe in it at all, but for the purpose of dismantling the opposition, it might be useful. We could blame... I don't know, Nate River."

"Nate River?"

"He's a threat. Tsukino hasn't got long left before he's kicked out for making no impression, and I want him to stay where he is. Believe me, River is the generator behind that party now. And, after all, most of the deaths have been in my cabinet. Who benefits there? The opposition, no question of that, and River's next up for leader, according to my spies. Of course, I couldn't be seen to agree with blaming them. It couldn't come from me. I would say that it's an attack against democracy and just idle gossip, but the damage will have been done. What we need is a whistleblower. We could make one of those up. I'll get L onto it."

"But isn't Lawliet on sympathetic leave? I haven't seen him for a while."

"Oh no, he's fine, he's just been very busy, but this is right up his street. I'll get him onto it first thing tomorrow. So, don't worry, Watari. In a few days, this will all be the opposition's fault."

Watari rubs rubs the back of his veiny, age-spotted hand for so long that I think that he's fallen asleep. He might have done, but he lifts his head suddenly and seems determined to say something important. There's always a first time.

"Mikami was asking me questions last week," he says.

"Oh? I hear that he does that."

"About Penber."

"Well, he is engaged to a woman who was Penber's fiancée, so he's probably intimidated and curious. He has a very sensitive nature."

"Prime Minister, I don't think that there's any way to stop the curse now if your investigation into Penber's death goes any further."

"What are you talking about, Watari? I'm not investigating Penber's death! The police handled that years ago and the man who shot him is dead. That's over with, don't be ridiculous. Warm, isn't it?" I say loudly, then switch the air conditioning on, the vents of which are just behind the front seats where my guard and driver are sitting. This isn't my most official car, it's more like my personal, small and very basic bus, so there isn't a screen between us and those two are probably listening to everything that Watari and I are saying. The noise from the vents is so loud that I doubt that they'd be able to hear us now. I lean towards Watari, who must be so surprised by the anger and sudden seriousness of my face that he backs as far away from me as he can. "Who did it?" I ask him. "Who killed Penber?"

"The... the cabinet office."

"And The Lady?"

"Yes."

"You hired that man to shoot Raye and then you had him murdered to cover your tracks."

"Not that exactly. Penber was dangerous and he left us with no choice."

"He knew about the supply of arms to the militant groups in exchange for oil, didn't he. He found proof."

"Yes."

"Did you have a vote? Did you vote to kill him, you fucking bastard!"

"P-Prime Minister -"

"Don't 'Prime Minister' me. You're an idiot. You shouldn't have told me, because I'll find that proof and then I'll have every one of you executed, even if I have to do it myself."

"We're all guilty, it's true. I didn't want Penber to be killed but -"

"But you went with the majority? You're going to tell me everything."

"Yes," he says calmly. "I want to. I have to stop the curse."

"Shut up about the curse. There is no curse. There's you and the cabinet office and you killed Raye."

"Other people have died. People are still dying."

"I don't care about other people. It started and ends with Raye. You had him killed right in front of me."

"You saw?"

"I saw. I was there," I nod, and I see it again in my mind. I hear the shot and see him lying on the ground. "I was there."

"The man with the gun was not the one who killed Raye Penber."

"What? What do you mean?"

I'm filled with so much hatred for him - him and his old, craggy, apologetic face like the side of a sandy, barren cliff – and I want to smash his head through the window for it. Everyone who's an accomplice to evil out of avarice or fear against a moral code which they should have is embodied in Watari right now. His eyes are shining like they're made of coated plastic, and he's mute with stupidity. Even over the deafening sound of the cold air blasting from the vents in front of me, I hear one of my guards shout, and I see a glimpse of a red car through the windscreen, swerving and steering across the road markings between lanes. Our car swerves in trying to avoid it, and I'm flung against the door. The seatbelt jams against my shoulder and jolts painfully over my collar bone as the tyres scream, but all I can do is watch the oncoming car, now almost completely obliterating the windscreen and coming at us like a suicide or like there's no driver inside. My car's milometer reads 50mph, and that number is going to kill me.


End file.
